SAIL 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 
Gift  of 

MR.    &  MRS.    ATTILIO  FERRARI 


UNDER  SAIL 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK   •    BOSTON   •  CHICAGO 
DALLAS   •  ATLANTA   •  SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON   •  BOMBAY   •  CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 
TORONTO 


f 


UNDER   SAIL 


BY 


FELIX  RIESENBERG 


ILLUSTRATED 


gorfe 
THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 


1918 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1918 

BT  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
Set  up  and  Electrotyped.    Published,  September,  1918 


TO 

MAUD 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTION 1 

OUTWARD  BOUND 12 

THE  OUTWARD  PASSAGE 29 

CHRISTMAS  DAY  ON  THE  HIGH  SEAS      ....  45 

THE  FIGHT 65 

NEPTUNE  COMES  ON  BOARD 77 

LIFE  IN  THE  FO'C'SLE .     .  90 

CAPE  HORN 102 

ROUNDING  THE  HORN 115 

INTO  THE  PACIFIC 123 

CABIN  AND  FO'C'SLE 133 

CLEANING  HOUSE  AND  A  CELEBRATION       .     .     .  142 

MAKING  PORT 154 

IN  HONOLULU  TOWN 168 

UNLOADING — WITH  A  BIT  OF  POLITICS   ....  179 

HAWAIIAN  HOSPITALITY 187 

HONOLULU  OF  THE  OLD  DAYS 200 

A  DINNER  ASHORE 212 

BRITISH  NEIGHBORS 223 

THE  MATE  KEEPS  Us  BUSY 233 

THE  LAND  OF  LANGUOR 245 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

LOADING  SUGAR 253 

GOOD-BYE  TO  HONOLULU 268 

HOMEWARD  BOUND 280 

HAWAIIAN  SHIPMATES 291 

DRIVING  SOUTHWARD 303 

CAPE  HORN  AGAIN 318 

MAN  LOST  OVERBOARD 332 

AUSTRALIA'S  STORY 342 

STORMY  DAYS 356 

HEADED  NORTH 366 

FO'C'SLE  DISCUSSIONS 377 

THROUGH  THE  TRADES 388 

APPROACHING  HOME 399 

THE  END  OF  THE  VOYAGE 408 

THE  LONG-LOOKED-FOR  PAYDAY 420 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Old  Smith 19 

Frenchy 26 

Deck  Plan  of  Ship  A.  J.  Fuller 31 

Jimmy  Marshall 41 

Fred 49 

Joe 61 

Skouse 70 

Martin 108 

Cape  Horn 114 

At  Brewer's  Wharf 175 

Charlie  Horse 196 

Watching  the  Shore  When  In  the  Stream      ...  235 

Brenden  Reading  Letter 265 

JackHitchen 270 

Australia 343 

Sketches  of  Diego  Ramirez 357 

Axel 382 

Watching  Shore  at  Delaware  Breakwater      .      .      .  405 


ix 


INTRODUCTION 

THE   SQUARE   RIGGERS 

AMERICA  is  again  facing  forward  to  the 
sea.  The  ancient  thrill  of  the  wide  salt 
spaces,  of  the  broad  horizon  beyond  which  adven- 
ture beckons  us,  appeals  once  more  to  the  youth 
of  America.  We  are  living  in  times  when  the 
great  importance  of  the  sea  as  a  career  comes 
home  to  us  at  every  turn.  The  sea  is  the  great 
bulwark  of  our  liberty,  and  by  the  sea  we  must 
persevere  or  perish  in  the  world  struggle  of  An- 
glo-Saxon democracy  against  the  powers  of  au- 
tocratic might. 

When  America  returns  to  her  own,  she  builds 
upon  foundations  of  tradition  that  have  their 
footings  on  the  solid  bed  rock  of  the  republic. 
One  glorious  era  of  our  sea  history  was  followed 
by  another,  and  as  times  progressed  the  breed 
of  seamen  ever  rose  capable  and  triumphant  to 
the  necessities  that  called  them  forth. 

The  Revolutionary  sailors,  and  those  of  1812, 
were  followed  by  the  great  commercial  seamen 

l 


2  UNDER  SAIL 

of  the  clippers.  The  mighty  fleets  of  the  Civil 
War  astonished  the  world,  and  in  the  period  just 
previous  to  our  seafaring  decline  of  a  score  of 
years  past,  the  great  sailers  flying  the  Stars  and 
Stripes  spread  their  white  cotton  canvas  on  every 
sea. 

Their  story  has  never  been  adequately  told. 
They  are  not  to  be  measured  in  terms  of  ton- 
nage, or  in  the  annals  of  swift  passages  from  port 
to  port.  Their  contribution  to  the  legends  of  the 
sea  remains  obscure.  They  carried  a  tradition 
of  hard  driving,  and  were  a  phase  of  our  sea  life 
that  formed  and  forged  the  link  between  the  old 
and  the  new,  between  the  last  days  of  sail  and 
the  great  new  present  of  the  America  of  steam 
and  steel. 

Men  who  go  to  sea  today  in  our  merchant  ma- 
rine, in  positions  of  command,  are,  in  many  in- 
stances, graduates  of  the  ships  of  these  latter 
days  of  sail 

Looking  back,  and  as  time  goes  it  is  not  so 
very  far  away,  we  can,  in  our  mind's  eye,  see  the 
great  wood-built  craft  that  lined  the  waterfront 
of  South  Street.  These  were  the  last  of  the 
American  sailing  ships,  entering  from,  and  clear- 
ing to,  every  sea  port  under  heaven.  They  were 
not  the  famous  California  clippers  of  an  earlier 


THE  SQUARE  RIGGERS  3 

day,  or  the  swift  Western  Ocean  packet  ships, 
or  the  storied  tea  ships  of  the  China  trade,  but 
they  were  their  legitimate  successors.  The  ships 
of  this  last  glorious  burst  of  sail,  under  the  Stars 
and  Stripes,  were  larger  craft,  vessels  built  for 
the  long  voyage  haul,  for  the  grain  trade,  for  the 
sugar  trade,  and  as  carriers  of  general  cargo  to 
the  Orient  and  the  western  coast  of  North 
America. 

Most  of  these  ships  were  laid  down  in  the 
eighties,  and  left  the  yards  of  Maine  to  find  ad- 
venture and  preferment  in  the  longer  routes  of 
commerce.  The  Horn  and  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope  were  their  turning  points,  and  they  smoked 
through  the  hum  of  the  Roaring  Forties,  as  they 
beat  from  the  Line  to  Liverpool,  laden  with  Cali- 
fornia grain,  or  they  ran  before  the  westerly 
winds,  from  Table  Bay  to  Melbourne — Running 
Their  Easting  Down — black  hulled,  white 
winged  ships,  with  New  York,  Boston,  Balti- 
more, or  Philadelphia  standing  out  in  golden  let- 
ters on  their  transoms. 

Only  the  strongest  and  best  found  ships,  and 
the  most  skilful  and  daring  seamen  were  fit  to 
carry  the  flag  across  the  world-long  ocean  courses 
about  the  storm-swept  Horn,  and  here  again 
America  more  than  held  her  own  in  competition 


4  UNDER  SAIL 

with  the  mariners  of  the  old  seafaring  nations  of 

Europe. 

Winthrop  Lippitt  Marvin  in  his  valuable  work, 

"The  American  Merchant  Marine,"  *  pictures 

this  last  Titanic  struggle  of  the  sea  in  stirring 

fashion— 

"It  was  a  contest  of  truly  Olympian  dignity, 
— of  the  best  ships  of  many  flags  with  each 
other  and  with  the  elements.  Out  through  the 
Golden  Gate  there  rode  every  year  in  the  later 
seventies  and  the  eighties,  southward  bound, 
the  long  lean  iron  models  of  Liverpool  and 
Glasgow,  the  broader  waisted,  wooden  New 
Englanders,  with  their  fine  Yankee  sheer  and 
tall,  gleaming  skysails,  the  sturdy,  careful 
Norwegian  and  German  ships,  often  launched 
on  the  Penobscot  or  Kennebec,  and  here  and 
there  a  graceful  Frenchman  or  Italian.  The 
British  were  the  most  numerous,  because  the 
total  tonnage  of  their  merchant  marine  was  by 
far  the  greatest.  Next  came  the  Americans. 
The  other  flags  looked  small  by  comparison. 
In  this  splendid  grain  trade  there  sailed  from 
San  Francisco  for  Europe  in  1881-85,  761 
British  iron  ships  and  418  American  wooden 
ships.  The  Americans  were  the  largest  ves- 

*  Chas.  Scribner  &  Sons,  N.  Y. 


THE  SQUARE  RIGGERS  5 

sels.  Their  average  registered  tonnage  was 
1,634  and  of  the  fourteen  ships  above  2,000 
tons  that  sailed  in  1880-1,  twelve  flew  the  Stars 
and  Stripes.  The  average  tonnage  of  the  Brit- 
ish iron  ships  was  1,356. 

"The  wooden  yards  of  Maine  had  seen  their 
opportunity  and  built  in  quick  succession  many 
great  ships  and  barks  of  from  1,400  to  2,400 
tons,  very  strongly  constructed  on  models  hap- 
pily combining  carrying  capacity  with  speed, 
loftily  sparred,  and  clothed  with  the  symmetri- 
cal, snow-white  canvas  for  which  Yankee  sail- 
makers  were  famous  the  world  around.  These 
new  vessels  were  not  strictly  clippers,  though 
they  were  often  called  so.  They  were  really 
medium  clippers ;  that  is,  they  were  less  racer- 
like  and  more  capacious  than  the  celebrated 
greyhounds  of  the  decade  before  the  Civil  War. 
They  could  not  compete  with  steam;  their 
owners  knew  it.  But  they  were  launched  in 
confident  hope  that  they  were  adapted  for  the 
grain  trade  and  for  some  other  forms  of  long- 
voyage,  bulky  carrying,  and  that  they  could 
find  a  profitable  occupation  during  their  life- 
time of  fifteen  or  twenty  years.  They  were 
just  as  fine  ships  in  their  way  as  the  extreme 
clippers,  and  in  all  but  speed  they  were  more 


6  UNDER  SAIL 

efficient.  They  were  framed  with  oak,  and 
ceiled  and  planked  with  the  hard  pine  of  the 
South.  They  were  generously  supplied  with 
the  new,  approved  devices  in  rig  and  equip- 
ment." 

In  the  last  years  of  the  nineties  there  were 
many  survivors  of  this  noble  fleet  of  American 
sailers  still  in  the  long  voyage  trade.  Ships  like 
the  El  Capitan,  the  Charmer,  the  A.  J.  Fuller, 
the  Roanoke,  and  the  Shenandoah,  were  clearing 
from  New  York  for  deepwater  ports,  and  South 
Street  was  a  thoroughfare  of  sailors,  redolent  of 
tar,  and  familiar  with  the  wide  gossip  of  the 
seas,  brought  to  the  string  pieces  of  the  street 
by  men  from  the  great  sailing  ships. 

Then  the  crimp  still  throve  in  his  repulsive 
power,  and  the  Boarding  Masters'  Association 
owned  the  right  to  parcel  out,  fleece  and  ship, 
the  deepwater  seamen  of  the  port.  The  Front 
Street  House  and  a  score  of  others  held  the 
humble  dunnage  of  the  fo'c'sle  sailor  as  security, 
cashed  his  "advance"  and  sent  him  out  past  the 
Hook  with  nothing  but  a  sparse  kit  of  dog's  wool 
and  oakum  slops,  a  sheath  knife  and  a  donkey's 
breakfast. 

Those  were  the  hard  days  of  large  ships  and 
small  crews.  In  clipper  days,  a  flyer  like  the  Sov- 


THE  SQUARE  RIGGERS  7 

ereign  of  the  Seas  carried  a  crew  of  eighty  sea- 
men, and  most  of  them  were  as  rated — A.B. 
The  ship  A.  J.  Fuller,  in  the  year  1897,  left  the 
port  of  New  York,  for  the  voyage  around  Cape 
Horn  to  Honolulu  with  eighteen  seamen,  count- 
ing the  boy  and  the  carpenter,  the  Fuller  being  a 
three  skysail  yard  ship  of  1,848  tons  register. 

It  may  be  interesting  to  compare  the  size  and 
crew  of  the  Sovereign  of  the  Seas,  as  given  by 
Captain  Clark  in  his  great  book,  "The  Clipper 
Ship  Era,"  *  with  the  dimensions  and  crew  of  the 
ship  A.  J.  Fuller. 

Ship  Sovereign  of  the  Seas     A.  J.  Fuller 

Length    258  ft.                      229  ft. 

Beam 44  ft.                        41.5  ft. 

Draft    23.5  ft.                     18  ft. 

Register  Tonnage 2,421  tons  1,848  tons 

Crew — 

Master  1     Master 1 

Mates  4     Mates  2 

Boatswains 2  Carpenter 1 

Carpenters 2  Able  Seamen 16 

Sailmakers 2  Boy  . . . . 1 

Able  Seamen 80 

Boys   10                                                21 

101 

•G.  P.  Putnam  and  Sons. 


8  UNDER  SAIL 

This  condition,  of  small  crews  and  large  ships, 
brought  to  the  seven  seas  a  reputation  for  re- 
lentless driving  and  manhandling  that  has  clung 
to  the  minds  of  men  as  nothing  else.  The  huge 
American  ships  were  the  hardest  afloat,  and  that 
remarkable  booklet,  "The  Red  Record,"  compiled 
by  the  National  Seamen's  Union  of  America,  in 
the  middle  nineties,  carries  a  tale  of  cruelty  and 
abuse  on  the  high  seas  that  must  forever  remain 
a  blot  upon  the  white  escutcheon  of  sail. 

These  ships  bred  a  sea  officer  peculiar  to  the 
time — the  bucko  mate  of  fact  as  well  as  fiction. 
These  were  hard  fisted  men,  good  sailors  and  ex- 
cellent disciplinarians,  though  they  lacked  the 
polish  acquired  by  sea  officers  of  an  earlier  day 
when  the  sailer  was  often  a  passenger  carrier,  and 
intercourse  with  people  of  culture  had  its  effect 
upon  the  men  of  the  after  guard.  Also,  the  sea 
had  become  less  attractive  as  a  career.  The 
boasted  "high  pay"  of  the  American  Merchant 
Marine,  was  $60  per  month  for  the  Chief  Mate ; 
$30  per  month  for  the  Second  Mate,  and  $18 
per  month  for  an  A.B. — at  least  such  were  the 
magnificent  wages  paid  on  the  A.  J.  Fuller  of 
New  York  in  the  year  1897. 

The  mate,  to  earn  his  two  dollars  a  day,  and 
keep,  had  to  be  a  seaman  of  the  highest  attain- 


THE  SQUARE  RIGGERS  9 

ments.  His  was  a  knowledge  won  only  after  a 
long  hard  apprenticeship  at  sea.  He  had  to  have 
the  force  of  character  of  a  top-notch  executive, 
combined  with  ability  and  initiative.  Then  too, 
he  was  supposed  to  be  a  navigator,  a  man  having 
at  least  a  speaking  acquaintance  with  nautical 
astronomy.  In  addition  to  this  he  might  be  as 
rough  and  as  foul  mouthed  as  he  saw  fit,  and 
some  of  them  were  very  liberal  in  this  respect. 

Then  men  still  signed  articles,  voyage  after 
voyage,  for  the  long  drill  around  the  Horn,  or, 
to  vary  the  monotony,  if  such  it  could  be  called, 
made  the  voyage  to  Australia,  or  to  China  or 
Japan.  In  the  main,  however,  American  ships 
clearing  from  New  York  carried  cargoes  to  the 
West  Coast  of  the  United  States,  or  to  the  Ha- 
waiian Islands,  where  they  came  under  the  pro- 
tective ruling  of  the  coastwise  shipping  laws,  and 
were  not  compelled  to  meet  the  stringent  insur- 
ance rates  of  Lloyd's  that  barred  American  sail- 
ing bottoms  from  fair  competition  with  the 
British. 

The  sailor  men  of  that  day  were  still  real  sea- 
men, at  least  a  large  number  of  real  seamen  still 
clung  to  the  remaining  ships.  They  were  experts, 
able  to  turn  in  a  dead  eye  in  wire  or  hemp,  and 
could  cast  a  lanyard  knot  in  the  stiff  four- 


10  UNDER  SAIL 

stranded  stuff  that  was  later  on  replaced  by 
screws  and  turn  buckles  when  metal  hulls  suc- 
ceeded those  of  wood. 

With  the  passing  of  the  wooden  ship — the 
wooden  square  rigged  sailer — went  the  Ameri- 
can sailor,  for  comparatively  few  steel  sailing 
ships  were  built  in  the  United  States.  With  the 
sailor  went  the  romance  of  bulging  canvas  and 
of  storm  stripped  humming  bolt  ropes.  The 
tragedy,  and  the  hardships  of  the  long  voyages 
passed  away,  and  with  that  passing  is  gone  much 
of  the  actual  physical  struggle  with  the  wind  and 
sea  that  made  the  sailor  what  he  was. 

The  square  rigged  breed  of  sailors,  while  not 
dead  yet,  for  the  old  salts  die  hard,  has,  by  force 
of  circumstances,  failed  to  rear  a  younger  gener- 
ation to  take  its  place.  But  the  old  spirit  of  sea 
adventure  is  as  strong  as  ever;  the  ocean  rages 
as  loud,  and  lies  as  calm,  as  in  the  days  of  de- 
parted glory.  It  is  still  the  world  route  to  for- 
eign trade,  and  a  more  ample  domestic  prosper- 
ity. Americans  are  again  turning  toward  the 
sea,  are  heeding  its  age  old  wisdom,  and  are 
building  and  handling  the  newer  craft  of  steam, 
and  coal,  and  oil,  with  as  much  skill  and  success 
as  they  did  the  sailing  craft  of  old. 

On  the  following  pages  is  recorded  for  the  sea- 


THE  SQUARE  RIGGERS          11 

men  and  landsmen  of  today,  a  personal  story  of 
one  of  the  last  voyages  around  Cape  Horn  in  a 
wooden  ship  propelled  by  sail  alone — a  ship  with- 
out a  donkey  engine,  a  wooden  Bath-built  packet 
at  her  prime  in  point  of  age  and  upkeep.  The 
advance  notes  have  been  cashed  by  the  boarding 
masters,  who  have  left  the  crew  in  tow  of  their 
crimps,  and,  after  deducting  for  board  and  slops, 
the  last  remaining  dollars  have  been  blown  in  on 
the  Bowery  under  the  watchful  eyes  of  the  run- 
ners, who  see  to  it  that  the  men  are  delivered  on 
board. 

Our  ship  is  the  A.  J.  Fuller  of  New  York, 
Captain  Charles  M.  Nichols,  and  she  waits  her 
crew,  ready  to  cast  off  from  her  berth  in  the  East 
River  at  the  turn  of  the  tide,  at  daybreak  on 
December  5,  1897,  having  cleared  for  the  port  of 
Honolulu,  capital  of  the  Republic  of  Hawaii, 
with  a  general  cargo  consigned  to  the  old  island 
house  of  Brewer  and  Company. 


CHAPTER  I 

OUTWARD    BOUND 

"Oh  for  a  fair  and  gentle  wind/' 

I  heard  a  fair  one  cry; 
But  give  to  me  the  roaring  breeze, 

And  white  waves  beating  high; 
And  white  waves  beating  high,  my  boys, 

The  good  ship  tight  and  free, 
The  world  of  waters  is  our  own, 
And  merry  men  are  we. 

Jacob  Faithful. 

COOK!"  bawled  a  deep  voice  from  a  door 
that  burst  open  with  a  flood  of  yellow  light 
under  the  break  of  the  poop,  '  'serve  a  round  of 
hot  cafay  nore  to  them  passengers!  And  Mr. 
Stoddard,"  added  the  mate  from  whom  these 
orders  issued,  addressing  the  second  officer  who 
strode  from  the  edge  of  light  toward  the  group 
of  men  tumbling  on  board,  "turn  all  hands  to  in 
five  minutes!  Stand  by  to  cast  off  lines!" 

Some  of  the  shore  crowd  from  the  boarding 
houses  helped  to  pass  up  the  chests  and  bags  of 
dunnage,  and  the  bundles  of  "donkey's  break- 

12 


OUTWARD  BOUND  13 

fast"  as  we  clambered  to  the  ice-encrusted  deck 
of  the  ship  A.  J.  Fuller,  lying  at  her  wharf  near 
the  foot  of  Maiden  Lane.  A  flickering  light,  and 
the  rattle  of  stove  lids  in  the  galley,  as  we  passed 
forward  to  the  fo'c'sle,  told  us  that  the  cook  was 
stirring,  and  the  snorting  of  a  tug  under  the  star- 
board quarter  gave  notice  of  an  early  start. 

It  was  dark  when  we  came  aboard ;  a  cold  De- 
cember wind  rippled  the  black  waters  of  the  East 
River,  chilling  to  the  marrow  those  few  stragglers 
who  walked  the  cobble  stones  of  South  Street  at 
that  early  morning  hour. 

An  odd  lot  of  humanity  dumped  their  few  be- 
longings on  the  fo'c'sle  deck;  strangers  all,  ex- 
cepting a  few  who  had  just  deserted  from  the 
British  bark  Falls  of  Ettrick,  men  jumbled  to- 
gether by  strange  fate,  and  destined  to  long 
months  of  close  companionship,  of  hard  knocks, 
and  endless  days  and  nights  of  unremitting  labor. 

No  time  was  lost,  however,  in  sentimental 
mooning;  the  chill  morning  air  was  charged  with 
activity,  the  "after  guard"  was  all  astir  and  an 
ebb  tide  flowed,  ready  to  help  us  on  our  way. 
Gulping  down  the  "cafay  nore"  that  presently 
was  passed  forward  in  a  bucket,  all  hands  dip- 
ping in  with  hook  pots  and  pannikins,  hastily 
dug  from  chest  and  bag,  we  were  barely  able  to 


14  UNDER  SAIL 

stow  away  this  refreshment  before  a  heavy  fist 
thumped  the  fo'c'sle  doors. 

"Turn  to !  Turn  to !  This  ain't  a  private  yacht- 
ing tour!"  was  the  sarcastic  invitation  that  sent 
us  scrambling  to  the  deck. 

"Here !  You,  I  mean !"  yelled  the  mate,  "come 
forward!"  for  I  had  headed  aft,  and,  at  this  com- 
mand, I  found  myself  with  some  others  hauling 
a  heavy  water-soaked  hawser  aboard  the  fo'c'sle 
head. 

"All  clear?"  came  the  query  from  aft. 

"Aye,  aye!    All  clear!" 

A  long  whistle  sounded  from  our  tug,  as  we 
backed  slowly  from  the  wharf;  the  escort  of 
boarding  house  runners  shivering  on  the  string 
piece  of  the  dock,  gave  us  a  dismal  cheer,  and  the 
voyage  around  Cape  Horn  had  fairly  begun. 

The  first  level  rays  of  morning  light  began  to 
filter  over  the  house  tops  on  the  Brooklyn  side, 
the  misty  span  of  the  bridge  loomed  above  the 
river,  and  a  dozen  bloodshot  eyes  among  the  crew 
forward  cast  their  farewell  glances  at  the  Tom 
and  Jerry  signs  in  the  saloon  windows  on  historic 
South  Street. 

We  were  a  lumbering  lot,  pushed  and  cuffed 
from  station  to  station,  our  best  men  acting  like 
dolts,  until  the  exercise  and  crisp  morning  air, 


OUTWARD  BOUND  15 

zipping  above  the  river,  wore  off  the  effects  of  a 
last  night  spent  at  the  Atlantic  Garden.  South 
Street,  at  that  day  still  a  forest  of  spars,  with  here 
and  there  a  bald  spot  marking  the  advent  of  the 
coastwise  steamers,  slid  past  us,  Governor's  Is- 
land, the  Statue,  the  Narrows,  and  the  Hook, 
were  passed  unnoticed  in  the  ceaseless  hustle  on 
our  decks.  The  running  gear,  left  by  the  shore 
riggers  in  a  hopeless  tangle,  had  to  be  put  to 
rights,  and  the  mates  worked  us  like  demons  to 
get  things  in  some  sort  of  shape  before  we  should 
be  called  upon  to  work  the  vessel  under  sail. 

Gradually  order  of  some  sort  issued  from  the 
chaos,  and  as  the  day  wore  on  we  set  our  fores'l, 
all  tops'ls,  main  t'gan'sl,  jib  and  stays'ls,  before 
a  stiff  off-shore  breeze  that  caused  the  towline  to 
slacken,  and  orders  were  given  to  cast  off  the  tug. 

The  new  steam  pilot  boat  New  York  rode  the 
swell  ahead  of  us,  ready  to  take  off  the  pilot. 

"Weather  main  braces!"  came  the  order;  the 
yards  were  braced  aback,  a  yawl  from  the  New 
York  touched  our  side  for  an  instant,  as  we 
surged  ahead  slowly  against  the  back  push  from 
the  main,  and  the  pilot,  hanging  from  a  Jacob's 
ladder,  dropped  into  his  boat. 

"See  you  in  Liverpool!"  shouted  the  pilot, 


16  UNDER  SAIL 

standing  in  the  yawl  and  waving  a  final  farewell 
to  Captain  Nichols. 

"Brace  up  main  yards,  sir!"  ordered  the  skip- 
per, addressing  the  mate,  and  we  swung  them 
around  with  a  will. 

The  day  was  well  advanced  by  then,  a  low  bank 
of  cloud  over  the  land  shut  in  the  sunset,  and  a 
spanking  breeze  from  no'east  by  nor'  brought  our 
port  tacks  to  the  deck.  The  Fuller  heeled  easily 
beneath  the  force  of  the  wind.  Off  to  leeward, 
and  rapidly  falling  astern,  was  the  American 
ship  Tarn  O'Shanter,  bound  for  China;  we  heard 
afterward  that  she  was  lost. 

Up  to  the  first  dog  watch  all  hands  had  labored 
without  a  moment's  rest,  and  at  eight  bells  in  the 
afternoon  the  courses  and  all  plain  sail  to  royals 
were  drawing  nicely.  As  soon  as  the  gear  was 
shipshape  and  coiled  on  the  pins,  all  hands  were 
mustered  aft.  There  was  a  feeling  of  uncertainty 
among  the  crew  as  we  filed  aft  to  the  waist,  stand- 
ing in  an  awkward  group  about  the  main  fife 
rail,  a  nondescript,  hard-fisted,  weatherbeaten 
lot  of  men. 

Above  towered  the  vast  expanse  of  snowy  can- 
vas, looming  out  of  all  proportion  in  the  dark 
half  light  of  the  winter  evening;  beneath  us  was 
the  rolling,  palpitating  sweep  of  deck,  yielding 


OUTWARD  BOUND  17 

and  swaying  in  the  constant  balance  'tween  the 
wind  and  sea.  To  windward,  above  the  line  of 
bulwark,  a  ragged  mackerel  sky  drove  across  the 
cloud  rack  of  scattered  cirrus,  touched  with  dull 
red  from  the  high  shafts  of  the  setting  sun.  The 
black  backs  of  the  shoreward  rollers  swept  to  lee- 
ward and  astern,  passing  us  as  if  frightened  by 
the  lofty  figure  of  the  ship. 

The  watches  were  about  to  be  chosen.  The 
two  mates  came  down  into  the  waist,  and  Captain 
Nichols  stood  at  the  break  of  the  poop  to  observe 
this  time-honored  ceremony  of  the  sea.  For  bet- 
ter or  for  worse,  in  sunshine  or  in  storm,  we  were 
to  be  parceled  off  to  our  respective  task-masters 
for  the  long  months  of  the  voyage  ahead.  The 
fate  of  friendships  was  to  be  decided,  for  watch- 
mates  are  far  closer  than  mere  shipmates,  and  a 
general  desire  to  escape  the  clutches  of  the  mate 
made  all  of  us  anxious  for  the  ordeal  to  be  con- 
cluded. Most  of  the  men  were  in  favor  of  the 
second  mate,  Mr.  Stoddard.  The  mate,  Mr. 
Zerk,  was  a  driver,  a  bully,  and  what  not,  but 
the  second  mate  seemed  to  be  easier,  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  he  lost  no  opportunity  to  bawl  out 
everyone  that  came  across  his  path. 

"He'll  be  all  right  when  we  get  outside,"  was 
the  remark  that  voiced  the  general  opinion.  Old 


18  UNDER  SAIL 

Smith,  perhaps  the  wisest  of  the  real  sailormen 
on  board,  came  as  near  to  hitting  the  relative 
values  of  the  mates  as  was  possible.  "I  don't  see 
no  choice  between  them,"  he  said.  "One  may  be 
easier,  but  give  me  the  best  sailor.  A  good  sailor 
aft  saves  work  for  his  watch  forward.  See  if  I 
don't  figger  it  right.  Take  it  any  way  you  like, 
there's  no  choosing  between  them  rotten  apples 
aft,  and  let  it  go  at  that." 

Mr.  Zerk,  a  man  of  about  forty,  medium  in 
height,  broad  shouldered,  bull  necked,  with  close 
cropped  yellow  hair — grey  eyes  set  in  a  very  red, 
smooth-shaven  face,  except  for  a  sweeping  blond 
mustache,  was  a  native  of  Nova  Scotia,  brought 
up  in  "blue  nose"  ships.  He  eyed  us  with  the 
cold  look  of  a  surgeon  about  to  amputate.  Walk- 
ing up  to  the  group  just  abaft  of  the  mainmast, 
he  made  his  first  choice  without  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation. 

"Frenchy,  come  here,"  and  Victor  Mathes,  of 
Dunkirk,  went  to  the  port  watch,  chosen  by  the 
mate. 

"Smith,"  was  the  laconic  reply  of  Mr.  Stod- 
dard  to  the  first  choice  of  the  mate.  Honors 
were  even,  for  it  was  a  toss  up  between  the  two 
men. 

Brenden,  a  husky,  well-set-up  sailor,  trained 


OUTWARD  BOUND 


19 


20  UNDER  SAIL 

in  the  sailing  ships  out  of  Hamburg,  with  plenty 
of  beef  and  a  good  head,  was  the  next  choice  of 
the  mate. 

"Axel,"  said  the  second  mate,  scoring  the  first 
advantage  in  the  choosing  of  the  watches.  Axel 
proved  to  be  one  of  the  best  men  in  the  crew,  a 
big,  boyish  Swede,  a  sailor  and  a  gentleman. 

"Roth,  come  here,"  and  John  Roth,  late  of  the 
opal  mines  in  Australia,  one  of  the  deserters 
from  the  Falls  of  Ettrick,  and  the  artist  of  the 
crew,  went  to  port.  We  soon  dubbed  him  "Aus- 
tralia." The  mate  sent  "Australia"  to  relieve 
the  wheel,  and  the  second  mate  paused  a  moment 
weighing  the  merits  of  the  remaining  men. 

"Tom,"  was  his  choice,  and  another  sailor, 
Tom  Morstad,  also  a  deserter  from  the  Ettrick, 
went  to  starboard. 

Things  were  fining  down,  and  the  remaining 
victims  in  this  heartless  process  of  elimination 
were  becoming  increasingly  apprehensive,  while 
those  who  had  been  chosen  grinned  at  us  with  ag- 
gravating humor.  The  mates  were  getting  less 
and  less  sure  of  their  choice  as  the  pickings  be- 
came more  and  more  undesirable.  It  was  getting 
to  be  a  question  of  brains  versus  brawn.  Husky 
young  clodhoppers  shipped  as  A.B.  by  the 
greedy  boarding  masters;  young  mules  with 


OUTWARD  BOUND  21 

nothing  but  their  thick  hides  and  an  abundance 
of  main  strength  and  stupidity  to  recommend 
them,  placed  in  the  balance  with  such  old  fellows 
as  Jimmy  Marshall  and  Jack  Kitchen.  Jimmy, 
who  claimed  to  be  sixty-five,  a  wizened  little  old 
sea-horse,  but  a  wonderful  "chantey  man,"  won 
the  next  choice  and  was  taken  by  the  mate. 

Hitchen  was  called  to  starboard,  and  the 
honors  still  remained  about  even  in  the  contest 
of  wit  and  experience,  for  both  mates  had  studied 
the  paces  of  each  individual  with  critical  eyes 
during  that  eventful  day. 

The  next  choice  was  a  painful  one.  There  was 
a  short  pause;  it  seemed  to  us  that  "Charlie 
Horse,"  who  had  once  been  mate  on  a  coaster 
in  the  oyster  trade,  or  Dago  Tony,  would  surely 
be  chosen  next. 

"Felix,  come  here,"  said  the  mate,  running  his 
eye  over  the  Dago  and  Charlie,  and  lighting  on 
me.  I  stepped  over  to  the  boys  lined  up  on  the 
lee  side,  a  weight  lifted  from  my  mind,  as 
Frenchy,  destined  to  be  my  chum,  moved  near 
me. 

It  was  getting  on  by  then.  Chips  went  aft 
carrying  the  side  lights,  and  Captain  Nichols  was 
stumping  the  poop  with  some  impatience,  as  a 
hint  to  his  officers  to  bring  things  to  a  close. 


22  UNDER  SAIL 

The  second  mate  chose  Charlie,  and  George 
Krug,  or  "Scouse"  as  we  called  him,  was  taken 
by  the  mate.  Dago  Tony  went  to  the  second 
mate,  and  Fred  Erricson,  a  good  sailor,  also  an 
Ettrick  deserter,  went  to  port. 

Mike,  the  wood  turner,  went  to  starboard,  and 
Joe  Johnson,  one  time  a  cobbler's  apprentice, 
and  general  all  round  husky  favorite  of  misfor- 
tune, was  taken  by  the  mate. 

The  left-overs,  Martin,  and  Peter  the  boy, 
were  divided  by  the  call  of  Peter  to  the  starboard 
watch,  and  Martin  fell  to  the  mate.  Peter,  an 
American,  ex-reporter  on  a  Worcester  paper,  one 
time  foreman  in  a  corset  factory,  and  a  bright, 
wideawake  boy  of  something  over  twenty-one, 
had  shipped  for  eight  dollars  a  month  and  his 
health.  The  voyage  netted  him  his  payday  many 
times  over,  for  he  was  endowed  with  brains  and, 
starting  out  a  wreck,  he  came  back  a  tough- 
handed  deep-water  man. 

It  was  close  to  six  bells  by  that  time.  Chips 
had  set  out  the  running  lights  and  was  getting 
the  big  pump  ready,  having  sounded  the  well 
and  reported  a  foot  of  water. 

"Starboard  watch  below  for  tucker!"  ordered 
the  mate;  and  then  turning  to  the  men  of  his 
watch,  he  ordered,  "Man  the  pump !" 


OUTWARD  BOUND  23 

It  was  dark  as  we  bent  to  the  cranks  of  the 
big  pump,  and  with  the  hum  of  wind  and  the 
swish  of  water  in  our  ears  we  realized  that  we 
were  truly  at  sea,  insignificant  mortals  riding  on 
the  low  deck  of  a  vast  fabric  of  wood  and  canvas, 
venturing  far  from  land  on  the  mighty  stretches 
of  the  Western  Ocean. 

That  first  night  at  the  pump,  forerunner  of 
many,  many  other  nights,  our  little  band  of 
watch  mates  toiled  in  silence,  except  for  a  few 
monosyllables.  Four  men  to  each  crank,  two  on 
a  side,  facing  each  other,  our  tired  arms  and 
backs  reciprocated  to  the  action  of  rotation  like 
so  many  toy  figures  actuated  by  some  hidden 
clockwork;  the  new  labor  was  almost  a  rest  after 
the  constant  pulling  and  hauling  of  the  day. 
Finally  the  low,  raucous  wheezing  of  the  valves 
told  us  we  were  sucking  air,  and  the  mate,  from 
the  darkness  of  the  poop,  called  out,  "Belay 
pump!" 

It  is  the  custom  of  the  sea,  handed  down  from 
time  immemorial,  that  "The  captain  takes  her 
out  and  the  mate  brings  her  back."  That  is,  the 
first  regular  watch  at  sea  is  taken  by  the  cap- 
tain's watch  on  the  outward  passage,  and  the 
same  watch  is  taken  by  the  port,  or  mate's  watch, 
on  the  start  for  home.  Of  course  the  second  mate 


24  UNDER  SAIL 

stands  the  starboard  watch,  except  in  case  of 
emergency. 

Accordingly,  at  four  bells,  we  went  below, 
and  after  a  hasty  supper  we  sought  our  bunks 
for  a  brief  rest  before  turning  out  for  the  watch 
from  eight  to  midnight.  We  were  tired — some 
of  us,  to  the  point  of  utter  exhaustion — and  a 
few  of  the  older  men  claimed  that  we  were  being 
cheated  out  of  our  right  to  the  first  four-hour 
watch  below,  ours  having  merely  been  a  dog 
watch  of  2  hours  from  6  to  8.  Anyhow,  what- 
ever we  thought  about  that,  nothing  was  said 
above  a  mild  growling  in  the  fo'c'sle,  and  as  we 
tumbled  out  at  eight  bells,  and  both  watches 
lined  up  in  the  waist  to  muster,  the  chill  wind  cut 
through  us,  and  a  moment  later  we  were  greeted 
by  an  order  from  aft. 

"Hands  aloft  to  overhaul  the  t'gallant  and 
royal  buntlines!" 

Up  I  went  on  the  mizzen,  never  caring  to  lag 
behind  on  an  order  to  lay  aloft,  a  piece  of  twine 
in  my  pocket.  The  gear  was  overhauled  and 
stopped  just  below  the  blocks,  so  the  buntlines 
would  not  chafe  the  sails,  and  at  the  same  time 
the  stops  of  cotton  twine  were  frail  enough  to 
be  easily  broken.  When  at  times  they  were  not, 
some  unlucky  wight  would  clamber  aloft  at  the 


OUTWARD  BOUND  25 

critical  moment  of  taking  in  sail  amid  the  slat- 
ting of  canvas  and  the  most  profuse  showers  of 
artistic  abuse. 

Coming  down  from  this  task,  I  was  in  time  to 
witness  a  burst  of  profanity  on  the  part  of  the 
mate.  "Keep  moving,  you  beach-combing  — 

!  Every  lousy -!  I  won't  have 

no  'lime  juice'  sleeping  on  deck  this  voyage.  D'ye 
hear  that?"  All  heard,  for  there  was  a  shuffle  of 
weary  feet  about  the  main  hatch,  where  several 
of  the  watch  had  perched  comfortably  in  the 
dark,  and,  after  a  moment  of  indecision,  sprin- 
kled with  derogatory  mutterings,  we  paired  off 
in  little  groups  of  twos,  walking  the  swaying 
deck  wherever  we  could  find  places  free  from  the 
back  draft  of  the  sails. 

Frenchy  was  my  first  chum  on  the  Fuller,  and 
though  for  periods  we  drifted  apart,  through 
sheer  mutual  exhaustion  of  our  interchangeable 
ideas,  yet  we  always  came  together  again.  Some- 
how, on  the  very  start  of  the  voyage,  when  the 
crimps  and  runners  bade  us  that  sad  farewell 
from  the  port  of  New  York,  we  were  drawn  to- 
gether. The  night  that  we  paired  off,  on  our 
first  watch  at  sea,  it  seemed  natural  that  Frenchy 
and  I  should  elect  to  stump  the  deck  in  company. 
We  preempted  a  path  from  the  lee  main  pin  rail 


26 


UNDER  SAIL 


OUTWARD  BOUND  27 

to  the  after  end  of  the  forward  house.  "It's  bet- 
ter here  than  anywhere,"  remarked  Frenchy,  and 
I  soon  found  he  was  right,  as  we  missed  the  draft 
from  the  mains'l  and  were  partly  sheltered  by 
the  house  on  the  forward  leg  of  our  walk. 

Frenchy  was  a  heavy-whiskered,  ruddy  speci- 
men, sporting  the  square-cut  beard  of  the  French 
sailor.  He  was  an  ex-naval  man,  and  one  time 
prison  guard  in  the  penal  settlement  of  New  Cal- 
edonia. Trained  to  the  sea  since  boyhood,  in 
the  fishing  fleet  of  Dunkirk,  for  many  years  a 
rigger  in  the  naval  yards  at  Brest,  a  sailor  man 
on  every  type  of  craft  from  the  Mediterranean 
ybeck  to  a  ship.  Victor  Mathes  was  one  of  the 
finest  types  of  the  Gallic  seaman. 

His  life  was  a  vague  and  many  folded  nebula 
of  romance.  He  was  full  of  stories  of  the  life  in 
New  Caledonia,  of  the  discipline  on  the  outly- 
ing islands,  of  punitive  expeditions,  and  of  the 
intrigues  and  jealousies  among  the  checkered 
lives  that  wear  themselves  away  in  those  distant 
places. 

Night  after  night  we  paced  the  deck  during 
the  long,  cold  watches,  and  between  the  calls  to 
man  this  rope  or  that,  and  the  horsing  and  rustl- 
ing about  that  was  always  indulged  in,  we 
swapped  information  of  all  kinds,  related  all 


28  UNDER  SAIL 

sorts  of  experiences,  truthful  and  otherwise,  and 
each  man  explored  his  mental  storehouse  for  the 
amusement  and  benefit  of  his  chum.  For  hours 
at  a  time  Frenchy  would  talk  of  good  things  to 
eat;  this  was  a  hobby,  in  fact  a  sort  of  passion, 
with  him  and  often  drove  me  to  the  verge  of  dis- 
traction. He  would  go  into  the  minutest  detail 
of  how  his  sister  Madeleine,  back  in  Dunkirk, 
prepared  some  particular  dish,  telling  not  only  of 
the  delightful  flavor  and  succulent  qualities,  but 
he  would  go  into  the  subject  of  the  way  things 
smelled,  roast  fowl,  with  all  sorts  of  fancy  stuff- 
ing. My  mouth  would  water  at  these  cruel  re- 
citals and  I  know  that  Frenchy  suffered  as  much 
as  I  did  at  the  poignant  recollections  of  gastro- 
nomic joys  long  past. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   OUTWARD   PASSAGE 

WHEN  well  clear  of  the  coast  we  roused 
the  bower  anchors  up  on  the  fo'c'sle  head 
and  lashed  them.  "A  sure  sign,  sonny,  that  you 
are  off  soundings,"  said  Brenden;  "these  wind 
wagons  don't  take  no  chances  till  they  get  a  safe 
offing."  The  cables  were  unshackled,  and  the 
ends  stoppered  abaft  the  wildcats.  Canvas  coats 
were  put  on  to  them,  just  over  the  chain  pipes 
leading  to  the  locker.  "Jackasses"  were  then 
bowsed  into  the  hawse  holes  for  fair,  taking  the 
"tails"  to  the  windlass.  With  the  ground  tackle 
secured,  the  "cat"  and  "fish"  were  unrove,  and 
this  gear  stowed  away  in  the  fore  peak.  We  had 
entered  upon  the  real  deepwater  stage  of  the 
voyage,  with  lee  shores,  and  soundings,  many 
miles  away. 

The  Fuller  *  carried  a  complement  of  sixteen 

*Data  re  A.  J.  Fuller. 

Ship  A.  J.  Fuller. 

Flint  and  Co.    The  California  Clipper  Line,  Owners. 

29 


30  UNDER  SAIL 

hands  forward,  and  a  "boy,"  not  counting  the 
"idlers" — that  is,  the  carpenter,  cook  and  cabin 
steward — a  small  enough  crew  for  a  vessel  dis- 
placing in  the  neighborhood  of  2,500  tons,  dead 
weight,  a  craft  229  feet  between  perpendiculars, 
411/2  feet  beam  and  23  feet  depth  of  hold,  ship 
rigged,  with  sky-sails,  royals,  single  t'gans'ls, 
double  tops'ls,  and  courses.  Her  main  yard  was 
90  feet  from  tip  to  tip.  A  crojik  was  carried  as 
well  as  a  spanker.  On  her  stays,  she  carried  fly- 
ing jib,  jib  tops'l,  jib  and  fore  topmast  stays'l, 
main  t'gallant  stays'l,  main  topmast  stays'l.  Miz- 
zen  t'gallant  stays'l  and  a  main  spencer  com- 
pleted her  spread  of  canvas.  When  on  a  wind, 
in  a  whole-sail  breeze,  with  crojik  furled,  and 
spanker  set,  the  ship  Fuller  spread  twenty-five 
kites  to  the  wind. 

Now  think  of  the  handsome  way  in  which  they 
manned  their  ships  in  the  olden  days  of  the  tea 
clippers  when  a  vessel  half  her  size  would  carry 
forty  men  forward!  And  a  vessel  of  equal  size 

Signal  letters  J.V.G.B.    International  Code. 
Built  at  Bath,  Maine,  1881,  of  wood. 

Gross  tonnage   1,848.76 

Net  "         1,781.88 

Length    229.3ft. 

Breadth   41.5 " 

Draft   (mean)    17.8" 

Depth  of  hold  23.0  " 


THE  OUTWARD  PASSAGE        31 


SHIP  AJ.FULLER    OF  NEW  YORK 

BUILT  AT  BATH  MAJflZ  1SQJ 


BUMPWH 

HATCH  TO  LA2ARETTE 


ff  HCAM 


CAT  *MD5 

CAPSTAN 


MATCH 

Four  MAST 

•       FIFC  RAIL 

«        CHAfinELS 
FO'C'SLE 


HAM    HATCH 
MAIM    WJT 

PUMP  ft  wnj. 

MAIM    FIFE  RAIL 


HAin  DiCK  CAPSTAfl 
WTTS 

BOOBY  -HATCH 
OF    PftO? 


CABJn   SKYUCHT 


CoriPAHiort 

WHEEL  &  BiftBAClE 
5KY  UCHT 
V/HEETL    HOUSE 
•RFF  RAIL. 


DECK    PLAM 


32  UNDER  SAIL 

would  carry  from  80  to  90  seamen.  As  it  was, 
we  were  hard  put  to  it  in  an  emergency  and  "all 
hands"  was  the  rule  on  every  occasion  demand- 
ing quick  work,  in  going  about,  or  in  making  or 
taking  in  sail.  When  tacking  it  was  "all  hands, 
and  the  cook  at  the  fore  sheet."  One  watch  could 
not  hoist  the  main  upper  tops'l,  except  in  the  fin- 
est kind  of  weather,  and  then  only  by  taking  the 
halyards  to  the  main  deck  capstan,  and  "inching" 
the  great  yard  up  in  slow  and  painful  fashion 
with  much  singing  and  ceyo  lio"  ing. 

Captain  Nichols  shaped  a  course  well  to  the 
eastward,  fetching  almost  to  the  Azores,  before 
hauling  his  wind  aft  and  squaring  away  for  an 
easy  run  through  the  N.  E.  trades.  Skysails  and 
flying  jib  were  up  and  down  a  score  of  times  a  day 
at  this  restless  stage  of  the  voyage,  for  every  rag 
was  kept  drawing  to  the  last  moment.  In  squally 
weather,  and  we  had  plenty  of  it,  the  ship  would 
race  along,  her  lee  scuppers  boiling  in  white  water 
as  she  heeled  to  the  blast,  hands  standing  by  at 
the  halyards,  which  were  always  flaked  down  clear 
for  running,  and  every  mother's  son  keyed  to  a 
high  pitch,  ready  for  quick  work  at  braces,  clew- 
lines and  buntlines. 

To  have  a  "wheel"  or  a  "lookout"  during  the 
night  watch  was  a  rest,  although  the  trick  at  the 


THE  OUTWARD  PASSAGE        33 

helm  was  a  wideawake  job,  whether  on  a  course, 
or  "by  the  wind."  I  had  a  fondness  for  steering 
and  often  stood  the  wheel  for  Frenchy  or  Bren- 
den,  especially  during  the  daytime  when  they 
were  employed  on  sailor  jobs  that  no  one  else  of 
our  watch  was  able  to  do.  The  mate  winked  at 
this  practice,  and  as  they  often  let  me  take  their 
tricks  at  night,  I  was  able  to  side  step  a  lot  of  the 
skysail  climbing  that  would  ordinarily  have  fallen 
to  me  as  the  youngster  of  the  watch. 

My  training  on  the  old  St.  Mary's  now  stood 
me  in  good  stead,  and  by  remembering  a  lot  of  the 
advice  given  me  by  that  prince  of  sailor-men,  old 
Bos'un  Dreilick  of  the  schoolship,*  I  found  my- 
self rated  with  the  best  men  in  the  ship,  and  far 
ahead  of  such  fellows  as  Scouse,  and  Joe,  and 
Martin,  who  were  strong  as  bulls,  but  knew  noth- 
ing. In  between  us  ranged  Australia  and  Fred, 
good  ordinary  sailors  who  knew  the  ropes,  could 
hand,  reef,  and  steer,  but  lacked  that  finished 
technique  so  essential  to  the  proper  able  seaman. 
I  must  admit  that  in  classing  myself  with  men 
like  Marshall,  Frenchy,  and  Brenden,  I  am  do- 
ing so  at  the  tail  end  of  this  trio,  and  then  only 
because  of  my  skill  at  the  helm,  at  heaving  the 
"blue  pigeon,"  and  at  sailing  and  handling  boats, 

*  Now  Boatswain  of  the  Schoolship  Newport. 


34  UNDER  SAIL 

accomplishments  that,  except  for  steering,  are 
rare  among  deep  water  sailors. 

"You  seem  to  stand  the  wheel  a  lot,"  the  Skip- 
per remarked  one  night,  having  noted  me  by  the 
dim  light  of  the  binnacle,  for  I  also  had  done  a 
trick  in  the  first  dog  watch  when  he  happened  to 
change  the  course. 

The  Old  Man  grinned,  "Well,  I  suppose  you 
like  to  be  aft.  Keep  at  it,  boy,  and  you'll  get 
there.  But  it's  a  lonesome  life;  dammit,  I  would 
rather  be  a  farmer  any  day." 

Captain  Nichols  thought  this  a  great  joke,  the 
idea  of  being  a  farmer  pleased  him  so  he  had  a 
good  laugh  as  he  surveyed  the  great  spread  of 
canvas  bowling  along  under  his  command.  I 
felt  sure  he  was  joking.  Since  then,  I  have  often 
pondered  over  his  remark  and  am  now  of  the 
opinion  that  he  was  in  dead  earnest. 

Standing  lookout  on  the  fo'c'sle  head  was  a 
favorite  duty  that  no  one  delegated.  Finally, 
however,  when  we  were  well  clear  of  the  coast, 
the  mates  began  to  pull  down  the  lookout  when- 
ever there  was  any  work  to  be  done.  There  al- 
ways was  considerable,  for  the  mates  would  start 
something  as  soon  as  they  felt  the  least  bit  sleepy 
and  would  horse  their  watches  about  even  though 


THE  OUTWARD  PASSAGE         35 

it  was  absolutely  unnecessary  to  start  a  single 
rope. 

Our  fare  on  the  Fuller  was  of  the  regular  deep 
water  variety,  made  palatable  by  the  fact  that  we 
were  living  the  open  air  life  of  a  lot  of  human  go- 
rillas. Our  labors  were  torture,  to  me  at  least,  un- 
til at  last  the  outraged  muscles  adjusted  them- 
selves to  the  unaccustomed  work.  Poor  Peter, 
he  was  a  hundred  times  harder  hit  than  I,  and 
the  four  hours  below  were  barely  enough  to  keep 
him  alive.  One  night,  a  few  days  after  leaving 
port,  when  we  mustered  at  midnight,  Peter  was 
not  to  be  found.  "Was  he  called  ?"  thundered  the 
mate,  as  Old  Smith  reported  him  "not  present," 
doing  so  in  a  hesitating  sort  of  way.  "Was  that 
-  called?"  again  thundered  the  mate.  "By  — 
I'll  call  him!"  he  shouted,  and  strode  forward,  the 
second  mate  following.  Peter  lay  half  out  of  his 
bunk,  one  leg  over  the  edge.  He  had  fallen  back 
exhausted  as  soon  as  he  got  his  trousers  on;  he 
was  dead  to  the  cruel,  hard  world. 

Mr.  Zerk  grabbed  him  by  the  leg,  and,  swing- 
ing him  like  a  bag  of  meal,  he  yanked  Peter  clear 
through  the  fo'c'sle  door,  landing  him  on  the  deck 
with  a  thud,  amid  a  shower  of  curses  and  the 
startled  cry  of  the  victim. 

This  type  of  brutality  was  calculated  to  "put 


36 


UNDER  SAIL 


the  fear  of  God  into  us,"  as  they  say,  and  to 
strengthen  discipline,  and  add  snap  and  vigor  to 
our  movements.  It  certainly  had  the  effect  of 
showing  us  how  important  it  was  to  be  in  the 
waist  when  the  watch  was  mustered. 

At  the  morning  washdown  the  black  slops  that 
went  by  the  name  of  coffee  tasted  like  the  very 
nectar  of  the  gods.  We  dipped  in  with  our  hook 
pots,  drinking  it  with  relish,  and  the  fact  that  it 
possessed  mild  cathartic  properties,  may  have  had 
something  to  do  with  the  excellent  state  of  our 
health.  Cockroaches  were  not  mentioned  in  the 
old  scale  of  provisions  *  adopted  by  a  kind  Con- 

•  The  following  is  the  Scale  of  Provisions  allowed  and  served  out  to 
the  Crew  during  the  voyage  in  addition  to  the  daily  issue  of  lime  and 
lemon  juice  and  sugar,  or  other  antiscorbutics  in  any  case  required  by 
law. 


Bread 
Ib. 

B.-cf 
Ib. 

Pork 
Ib. 

Flour 
Ib. 

IPeas 
pt. 

Rice 
pt. 

Barley 
Pt. 

Tea 
oz. 

Coffee 
oz. 

Sugar 
oz. 

Water 

qt. 

Sunday 

1 

1U 

^ 

U 

u 

2 

3 

Monday  .  .  . 
Tuesday  .  .  . 
Wednesday. 
Thursday  .  . 
Friday  
Saturday 

1 
1 
1 
1 
1 
1 

1H 
IK 
\it 

11A 

i'lA 

IX 

'y2 

H 

iy* 

I*/* 

iy* 

8 

y* 
y% 
y% 
y* 

l/c. 

% 

y* 

1A 

2 
2 
2 
2 

2 
2 

3 
3 
3 
3 
3 
3 

SUBSTITUTES 

One  ounce  of  coffee  or  cocoa  or  chocolate  may  be  substituted  for  one 
quarter  ounce  of  tea;  molasses  for  sugar,  the  quantity  to  be  one  half 
more;  one  pound  of  potatoes  or  yams;  one  half  pound  of  flour  or  rice; 
one  third  pint  of  peas  or  one  quarter  pint  of  barley  may  be  substituted 
for  each  other. 


THE  OUTWARD  PASSAGE        37 

gress  for  the  nourishment  of  the  simple  sailor 
man.  This  was  no  doubt  an  oversight  on  the  part 
of  some  bucolic  "sailor's  friend,"  for  they  might 
have  specified  that  "one  ounce  of  cockroaches 
may  be  substituted  for  an  ounce  of  tea." 

Our  tea  was  never  without  these  disgusting 
vermin  and  none  of  us  was  ever  able  to  tell  what 
gave  it  the  peculiar  flavor  that  we  came  to  relish 
— the  twigs  and  leaves  floating  about  in  the 
brown  liquor,  or  the  roaches  lying  drowned  in 
the  bottom  of  the  can. 

"They's  no  worse  nor  shrimps,"  philosophized 
Jimmy  Marshall,  and  we  tried  to  believe  him. 

The  cook,  an  ancient  Celestial  named  Chow, 
hailing  from  Hong  Kong,  had  evidently  put  all 
of  his  gods  behind  him.  His  pigtail  was  gone, 
and  with  it  all  sense  of  decency,  so  far  as  prepar- 
ing food  for  sailormen  was  concerned.  Those 
human  precepts  that  all  cooks  are  supposed  to 
act  upon,  the  ethics,  if  you  will,  of  the  noble  pro- 

When  fresh  meat  is  issued,  the  proportion  to  be  two  pounds  per  man, 
per  day,  in  lieu  of  salt  meat. 

Flour,  rice,  and  peas,  beef  and  pork,  may  be  substituted  for  each 
other,  and  for  potatoes  onions  may  be  substituted. 

NOTE  BY  AUTHOR. — The  above  is  from  the  fo'c'sle  card  of  the  ship 
A.  J.  Fuller,  taken' when  I  left  her.  This  scale  of  provisions  was  greatly 
amplified  a  few  years  later.  It  was  found  that  a  shipmaster  sticking 
close  to  the  law  in  the  matter  of  provisioning  could  easily  starve  a  crew, 
as  there  was  no  control  over  quality.  On  the  Fuller,  the  owners  were 
liberal  in  provisioning.  Such  trouble  as  we  had  was  due  to  the  condi- 
tions of  deepwater  voyages. 


38  UNDER  SAIL 

fession,  that  Marryat  tells  us  entitled  the  prac- 
titioner to  wear  a  sword,  in  those  good  old  days 
when  the  Admiralty  recognized  the  cook,  were 
lacking  in  the  breast  of  Chow.  He  was  a  typi- 
cal deepwater  cook.  What  went  aft  was  right, 
so  far  as  looks  count  anyway,  but  the  kids  that 
left  for  the  fo'c'sle  often  contained  the  most  un- 
savory messes  that  ill-fortune  can  concoct.  Some 
of  the  men  had  words  with  Chow  about  this  but 
the  result  was  increased  carelessness  and  de- 
creased portions. 

"It  don't  do  no  good  to  scrap  with  the  cook," 
was  Jimmy  Marshall's  sage  advice.  "If  the  dirty 
bum  wants  to  be  dirty  he  can  fix  us  all  up.  I 
knowed  a  cook  once  wot  -  -  in  the  soup  an'  bully 
on  a  English  bark.  The  skipper,  he  caught  him 
at  it,  an'  puts  him  in  irons.  The  cook  had  to  be 
let  out  though  because  he  was  the  only  one  wot 
could  do  the  work,  an'  they  was  mighty  careful 
aft  not  to  rile  him  after  they  knowed  wot  he  was. 
You  got  to  leave  them  cooks  alone." 

We  left  Chow  severely  alone,  and  some  of  the 
crowd,  Joe  and  Tommy  especially,  constituted 
themselves  his  volunteer  assistants,  and  almost 
every  first  dog  watch,  one  of  them  would  be 
around  the  galley  helping  out.  Chow  rewarded 
them  by  allowing  the  use  of  the  oven  to  make 


THE  OUTWARD  PASSAGE       39 

"dandy  funk,"  a  mess  of  broken  hard  tack  and 
molasses,  baked  to  a  crisp. 

When  ten  days  had  elapsed,  after  the  final  ra- 
tions of  fresh  provisions  had  been  issued,  a  tot  of 
lime  juice,  that  reeked  suspiciously  of  vinegar, 
was  served  each  day — by  Act  of  Congress — to 
keep  the  sailor  man  from  getting  scurvey.  At 
the  same  time  the  "harness  casks,"  beef  to  star- 
board, and  pork  to  port,  did  their  duty  nobly  and 
each  week  or  so  we  would  lift  the  fore  hatch  and 
rouse  up  a  slimy,  wooden  hooped  barrel,  and  roll 
it  aft  to  the  galley  door,  alternating  to  the  port 
and  starboard  harness  casks. 

After  a  month  of  chumming  it  with  Frenchy, 
talking  steadily  from  three  to  four  hours  a  night, 
we  were  both  pretty  well  cleaned  out  of  experi- 
ences and  ideas.  Other  groups  had  long  before 
reached  that  deplorable  state,  and  new  combina- 
tions were  formed  in  the  night  walks  on  deck. 
One  night  as  we  came  on  deck  in  the  mid-watch, 
Frenchy  and  I  noticed  Jimmy  Marshall  and 
Martin  standing  at  the  lee  of  the  main  hatch,  in 
silence,  after  the  watch  had  been  mustered.  The 
absence  of  their  usual  animated  discussions  of 
everything  temporal  and  mundane  attracted  our 
attention.  Soon  we  found  ourselves  at  the  lee 
of  the  hatch ;  Martin  and  Jimmy  warmed  up  to 


40  UNDER  SAIL 

us  and  presently  Jimmy  and  myself  were  walk- 
ing just  aft  of  the  forward  house,  and  Martin 
and  Frenchy  began  to  pace  the  deck  to  wind- 
ward. 

Jimmy  was  a  new  sort  of  chum  and  the  poor- 
est listener  I  have  ever  met,  which  may  have  ac- 
counted for  the  peculiar  one  sided  lay  of  his  mind. 
The  hard  knocks  of  experience  were  alone  ac- 
countable for  his  knowledge,  varied  and  pictur- 
esque in  the  telling.  He  was  chockf  ul  of  religion 
and  was  constantly  repenting  the  bad  deeds  of 
his  youth,  telling  them  at  great  length,  and  with 
such  relish,  that  it  seemed  they  had  come  to  be 
his  one  unfailing  source  of  enjoyment.  A  ter- 
rible drunk  in  his  day,  he  had  also  indulged  in 
robbery,  having  looted  a  house  in  Australia  while 
tramping  overland  to  Sydney  from  Port  Hun- 
ter, where  he  had  "jumped"  a  schooner,  leaving 
everything  behind,  because  of  a  row  with  the 
mate,  in  which  he  felled  him  with  a  handspike. 

" Walked  away  with  a  piece  o'  change  an'  a 
whole  kit  o'  dunnage,"  was  the  way  he  put  it. 

And  also,  according  to  his  story,  Jimmy  had 
been  a  lightweight  fighter  in  his  youth,  many, 
many  years  before.  He  was  the  best  chantey- 
man  in  the  crew;  to  hear  him  "sing"  a  rope  was 
an  inspiration  to  tired  arms  and  backs. 


THE  OUTWARD  PASSAGE        41 


42  UNDER  SAIL 

While  memory  lasts,  the  picture  of  our  first 
chantey,  a  few  days  after  leaving  port,  will  re- 
main with  me  as  one  of  the  great  thrills  that 
have  come  my  way.  A  heavy  squall  in  the  fore- 
noon watch  sent  all  of  our  tops'l  yards  to  the 
caps,  everything  coming  down  by  the  run,  to  hang 
slatting  in  the  gear.  Skysails,  royals,  flying  jib, 
t'gans'ls,  jib  tops'l,  jib,  fore  topmast  stays'l, 
and  then  the  upper  tops'ls  were  lowered,  the  lat- 
ter thrashing  and  straining  against  the  down- 
hauls  as  the  ship  heeled  to  it  almost  on  her  beam 
ends,  gaining  headway  with  a  rush,  and  righting 
herself  as  we  spilled  the  wind  from  the  bulging 
canvas. 

Passing  as  quickly  as  it  came,  the  squall  left 
us  wallowing  under  lower  tops'ls,  the  courses 
hanging  in  their  gear. 

All  hands  were  called  to  make  sail,  and  as  we 
manned  the  main  tops'l  halyards  Jimmy  Mar- 
shall jumped  to  the  pin  rail,  and  with  one  leg 
over  the  top  of  the  bulwark,  he  faced  the  line  of 
men  tailing  along  the  deck. 

"A  chantey,  boys!"  shouted  Mr.  Stoddard  as 
he  took  his  place  "beforehand"  on  the  rope. 
"Come  now,  run  her  up,  lads.  Up!  Up!"  and 
the  heavy  yard  commenced  to  creep  along  the 
mast  to  the  sound  of  the  creaking  parral,  the  com- 


THE  OUTWARD  PASSAGE        43 

plaining  of  the  blocks,  and  the  haunting  deep 
sea  tune  of  "Blow  the  Man  Down,"  greatest  of 
all  the  two  haul  chanteys. 

Jimmy — "Now    rouse    her    right   up    boys    for    Liverpool 

town," 

Sailors — "Go  way — way — blow  the  man  down." 
Jimmy — "We'll  blow  the  man  up  and  blow  the  man  down," 
Sailors — "Oh,  give  us  some  time  to  blow  the  man  down." 
Jimmy — "We  lay  off  the  Island  of  Maderdegascar." 
Sailors — "Hi!  Ho!    Blow  the  man  down." 
Jimmy — "We    lowered   three   anchors    to  make   her   hold 

faster," 
Sailors — "Oh,  give  us  some  time  to  blow  the  man  down." 

Chorus 

All  hands — "Then  we'll  blow  the  man  up, 
And  we'll  blow  the  man  down, 
Go  way — way — blow  the  man  down. 
We'll  blow  him  right  over  to  Liverpool  town, 
Oh,  give  us  some  time  to  blow  the  man  down. 
Ho!    Stand  by  your  braces, 
And  stand  by  your  falls; 
Hi !  Ho !    Blow  the  man  down, 
We'll  blow  him  clean  over  to  Liverpool  town, 
Oh,  give  us  some  time  to  blow  the  man  down." 

Old  Marshall  faced  to  windward,  his  mustache 
lifting  in  the  breeze,  the  grey  weather  worn 
fringe  of  hair  bending  up  over  his  battered  nose. 
He  always  sang  with  a  full  quid  in  his  cheek,  and 


44  UNDER  SAIL 

the  absence  of  several  front  teeth  helped  to  give 
a  peculiar  deep-sea  quality  to  his  voice. 

"We  have  a  man-o-war  crew  aboard,  Mr. 
Zerk!"  shouted  the  Captain  from  the  top  of  the 
cabin,  where  he  had  come  out  to  see  the  fun. 

"Aye,  aye,  sir!  Some  crew!"  returned  the 
Mate,  looking  over  us  with  a  grim  smile. 


CHAPTER  III 

CHRISTMAS  DAY  ON  THE  HIGH  SEAS 

LIFE  was  not  always  so  pleasant  on  board 
the  Fuller.  Hard  words  were  the  common 
run  of  things  and  the  most  frightful  and  artistic 
profanity  often  punctuated  the  working  of  the 
ship.  Given  a  ship's  company  barely  strong 
enough  to  handle  a  two  thousand  five  hundred 
ton  three-skysail  yarder,  even  had  they  all  been 
seasoned  able  seamen,  our  officers  had  to  contend 
with  a  crew  over  half  of  which  rated  below  that 
of  the  "ordinary"  classification  of  seamanship, 
thick  skinned  clodhoppers,  all  thumbs  on  a  dark 
night,  and  for  many  weeks  after  leaving  port,  as 
useless  as  so  much  living  ballast.  The  kicking 
and  moulding  into  form  of  this  conglomerate 
mass  of  deep  sea  flotsam,  gathered  for  the  ship 
by  the  boarding  masters,  and  duly  signed  on  the 
ship's  articles  as  A.B.,  called  for  all  but  super- 
human efforts.  The  curse  is  far  more  potent  than 
the  gentle  plea,  especially  when  hard  fists  and 
hobnailed  sea  boots  are  backed  by  all  of  the  age 

45 


46  UNDER  SAIL 

old  authority  of  the  sea.  To  work  a  ship  of  the 
proportions  of  the  Fuller,  with  seventeen  hands 
forward,  called  for  man  driving  without  thought 
of  anything  but  the  work  required. 

The  latter  days  of  the  sailing  ship  as  a  carrier, 
before  invoking  the  aid  of  steam  auxiliary  appa- 
ratus, in  the  hoisting  and  hauling,  brought  forth 
the  brute  sea  officer  aft,  and  the  hardened  fo'c'sle 
crowd,  half  sailor  and  half  drudge,  forward.  The 
"bucko  mate"  walked  her  decks,  and  the  jack  tar, 
stripped  of  his  pigtail,  his  bell  mouthed  canvas 
trousers,  his  varnished  sailor  hat,  and  his  grog, 
remained  in  plain  dungaree  and  cotton  shirt  to 
work  the  biggest  sailing  craft  in  the  history  of  the 
world  on  the  last  hard  stages  of  their  storm 
tossed  voyages. 

Mixed  with  our  real  sailors  were  the  worthless 
(so  far  as  sea  lore  went)  scrapings  of  the  water- 
front. Shipped  by  the  boarding  masters  for  the 
benefit  of  their  three  months'  "advance,"  and 
furnished  for  sea  with  rotten  kits  of  dunnage, 
as  unreliable  and  unfitted  for  the  work  as  the 
poor  unfortunate  dubs  who  were  forced  by  an 
unkind  fate  to  wear  them. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  real  sailor  men  of  the 
crew  were  valued  accordingly,  and  I  can  hardly 
remember  an  instance  where  either  one  of  the 


CHRISTMAS  ON  THE  HIGH  SEAS     47 

mates  singled  out  for  abuse  those  men  who  had 
shipped  as  A.B.  and  were  so  in  fact.  My  school- 
ship  training  (St.  Mary's  '97)  stood  by  me,  and 
though  barely  turned  eighteen,  I  was  saved  from 
most  of  the  drudgery  meted  out  to  the  farmers 
of  the  watch. 

After  washing  through  the  heavy  seas  we  en- 
countered for  the  first  few  weeks  of  the  voyage, 
while  beating  off  the  coast  on  the  long  reach  east- 
ward to  the  Azores,  the  long  hard  pine  sweep  of 
the  main  deck  became  slippery  with  a  deposit 
of  white  salt-water  slime.  The  sheen  of  this 
scum,  in  the  moonlight,  under  a  film  of  running 
water,  gave  the  decks  a  ghastly  "Flying  Dutch- 
man" like  appearance,  and  the  footing  became 
so  precarious  that  something  had  to  be  done. 

"They  have  the  'bear'  out,"  Scouse  announced, 
as  he  trudged  into  the  fo'c'sle  carrying  a  "kid"  of 
cracker  hash,  ditto  of  burgoo,  a  can  of  coffee,  and 
a  bag  of  hard  tack,  this  cargo  of  sustenance  be- 
ing our  regulation  breakfast  menu. 

"The  bear?"  I  asked,  as  we  gathered  about  this 
appetizing  spread. 

"Yes,  the  bear,"  volunteered  Brenden,  grin- 
ning with  the  rest  of  the  sailors.  "The  bear  for 
Scouse,  and  Joe,  and  Martin,  and  Fred." 

At  eight  bells,  as  we  mustered  aft,  a  subdued 


48  UNDER  SAIL 

banter  went  on  among  the  men.  The  starboard 
watch  were  all  grinning,  and  as  they  went  below 
four  sheepish  looking  fellows  of  the  other  side 
turned  the  "bear"  over  to  the  farmers  of  our 
watch.  "Keep  that  jackass  baby  carriage  mov- 
ing now.  D'ye  hear  me?  Keep  it  moving!"  bel- 
lowed the  mate,  for  there  was  some  reluctance  in 
taking  hold,  and  as  Scouse  and  Martin  tailed  on, 
opposed  to  Joe  and  Fred,  the  doleful  scrape  of 
the  bear  mingled  with  the  general  laughter  at  the 
mate's  sally. 

The  bear  consisted  of  a  heavy  box,  a  thick 
thrum  mat  lashed  on  the  bottom  of  it,  and  the 
inside  loaded  with  broken  holy  stones  and  charged 
with  wet  sand.  Four  stout  rope  lanyards  were 
rigged  to  the  corners  and  served  to  haul  the  thing 
back  and  forth  while  the  sand  filtered  down 
through  the  mat,  providing  the  necessary  scour- 
ing agent.  A  day  or  two  with  the  bear  in  con- 
stant service,  both  day  and  night,  cleaned  up  the 
decks  and  provided  us  with  considerable  amuse- 
ment, that  is,  those  of  us  who  were  lucky  enough 
to  be  kept  at  more  dignified  jobs. 

Ships  leaving  the  Atlantic  Coast  in  the  winter 
months  bend  their  best  suit  of  sails.  The  severe 
weather  usually  encountered  in  working  clear  of 
the  land,  and  the  chance  of  having  to  ratch  off 


CHRISTMAS  ON  THE  HIGH  SEAS     49 


50  UNDER  SAIL 

from  a  lee  shore,  make  this  precaution  one  of 
great  importance.  The  fact  that  green  crews  are 
bound  to  be  more  or  less  slow  in  taking  in  sail 
during  squalls  may  also  account  for  the  "storm 
suit"  under  which  we  sailed  from  port. 

On  our  first  night  out,  shortly  before  one  bell 
in  the  mid  watch,  our  crowd  having  just  gone  be- 
low, the  fore  topmast  stays'l  blew  from  the  bolt 
ropes  with  the  report  of  a  cannon.  We  had  al- 
ready clambered  into  our  bunks,  dog  tired,  when 
this  occurred,  and  muttered  oaths,  anticipating  a 
call  of  "all  hands,"  came  from  untold  depths  of 
weariness  within  the  foVsle.  On  deck  there  was 
the  hurried  tramping  of  feet,  and  the  shouting  of 
the  second  mate.  We  could  hear  the  long  wail 
of  the  men  at  brace  and  downhaul,  the  "Ah-hee- 
Oh-hee-ah-Ho  I"  with  all  of  its  variation  as  the 
slaves  of  the  ropes  launched  their  age-old  com- 
plaint on  the  whipping  winds.  I  lapsed  into  slum- 
ber with  the  dim  consciousness  that  the  second 
mate  was  handling  the  situation  alone,  and  a 
heartfelt  thanks  for  the  warmth  of  the  blankets 
in  my  narrow  bunk;  a  foot  above  me  the  cold 
rain  pattered  against  the  roof  of  the  foVsle 
house,  its  music  mingling  with  the  swish  of  the 
water  under  the  fore  channels. 


CHRISTMAS  ON  THE  HIGH  SEAS     51 

After  three  weeks  of  beating  to  the  eastward, 
having  fetched  almost  as  far  across  as  the  Azores, 
and  being  in  the  region  of  the  northern  limit  of 
the  N.  E.  trades,  the  captain  hauled  his  wind 
and  squared  away  for  the  run  through  the  trade 
wind  belt  to  the  doldrums  and  the  line.  Fine 
weather  became  the  order  of  the  day  and  life  on 
board  settled  down  to  a  more  regular  routine. 

On  a  Saturday  morning,  the  day  having 
broken  remarkably  fine,  a  brilliant  red  sunset  fol- 
lowed by  a  cold  grey  dawn,  assuring  us  of  the 
settled  weather  that  the  steady  "glass"  made  more 
certain,  all  the  world  seemed  ready  to  rejoice, 
for  it  was  Christmas  Day.  Word  was  passed 
into  the  fo'c'sle  by  the  other  watch,  as  we  turned 
out  for  our  breakfast,  "We  shift  sail  today. 

"All  hands  on  deck  for  us,  me  boys!"  piped 
Australia.  "An*  the  first  watch  on  deck  to- 
night," chipped  in  Jimmy  Marshall,  "an'  a  hell 
of  a  Christmas  Day!" 

Jimmy  lit  his  pipe  for  a  morning  puff;  climb- 
ing into  his  bunk,  he  dangled  his  short  legs  over 
the  frowsy  head  of  big  Scouse  who  sat  with  his 
dejected  poll  bent  under  the  upper  bunk  board, 
a  fair  sample  of  the  despondent  crowd  of  farm- 
ers who  faced  a  Christmas  Day  of  labor. 


52  UNDER  SAIL 

"A  hell  of  a  Christmas  Day,  boys, 
A  hell  of  a  Christmas  Day, 
For  we  are  bound  for  the  bloody  Horn 
Ten  thousand  miles  away." 

Jimmy  rendered  this  little  ditty  of  cheerfulness 
as  Fred  picked  up  the  breakfast  kids  and  started 
for  the  galley,  while  we  turned  out  on  the  sun- 
splashed  planks  as  the  last  of  eight  bells  vibrated 
over  the  ship.  She  lay  still  in  a  near  calm  like  a 
scene  by  Turner,  all  of  her  canvas  hanging  in 
picturesque  festoons  from  the  jackstays,  where 
the  starboard  watch  had  cast  off  the  courses  and 
tops'ls,  leaving  them  depending  in  their  gear. 
The  decks  had  not  been  washed  down,  in  order  to 
keep  them  dry,  and  the  mate  himself  had  turned 
out  at  four  bells  to  start  the  ball  rolling. 

Long  bundles  of  the  fine  weather  canvas  were 
stretched  on  the  decks  ready  for  swaying  aloft. 
Working  like  demons  in  the  forenoon,  and  with 
all  hands  on  deck  after  dinner,  which  was  dis- 
patched in  haste,  we  had  the  courses,  and  in  turn 
the  tops'ls  and  light  sails,  lowered  to  the  deck, 
and  the  gantlines  rigged  to  hoist  the  summer 
canvas;  this  we  sent  aloft  in  record  time.  These 
old  sails,  soft  and  mellow,  veterans  of  a  dozen 
voyages,  patched  and  repatched,  with  whole  new 
cloths  of  a  lighter  grade  here  and  there  streak- 


CHRISTMAS  ON  THE  HIGH  SEAS     53 

ing  the  dull  white-weathered  surface,  were  as 
smooth  and  pliable  as  a  baby's  bonnet. 

On  some  of  them,  the  fore  upper  tops'l  espe- 
cially, we  found  records  of  the  many  crews  who 
had  handled  them  before.  "James  Brine,  Liver- 
pool. On  his  last  voyage,"  was  one  inscription. 
I  hope  Brine  achieved  his  end  and  stayed  ashore. 
A  date  under  this  was  hardly  decipherable  but 
may  have  been  Jan.,  June,  or  July,  the  day  the 
eighth,  and  the  year  1893. 

Bending  a  sail  calls  for  the  nicest  knowledge; 
the  passing  of  the  head  earing  must  be  done  in 
a  certain  manner,  so  the  head  of  the  sail  will  hold 
well  up  on  the  yard  arm;  the  gear,  consisting  of 
tacks,  sheets,  clew  garnets,  and  buntlines,  in  the 
case  of  a  "course,"  not  to  mention  the  leechlines, 
and  bowlines,  must  all  be  rove  and  rigged  just 
so.  The  "robands"  or  pieces  of  rope  yarn,  are  all 
looped  through  the  "head  holes"  ready  for  bend- 
ing the  sail  to  the  iron  jackstay  on  the  yard,  and 
when  a  sailor  does  the  job,  all  goes  as  smooth  as 
a  wedding  when  the  parson  knows  his  job. 

After  the  labors  of  a  busy  day,  the  ship  pre- 
sented the  comfortable  well-patched  appearance 
of  a  man  in  the  woods,  free  from  the  stiffness  of 
new  white  linen,  and  naturally  fitting  into  the 
familiar  folds  of  old  duds,  unconventional  but 


54  UNDER  SAIL 

plenty  good  enough.  The  bright  spars  still  at- 
tested to  her  "smartness,"  but  we  were  in  easy 
trade  wind  weather  and  dressed  accordingly.  The 
fores'l  was  particularly  large,  with  extra  clothes 
in  the  leeches,  made  to  catch  and  hold  every 
breath  of  wind  blowing  over  the  deck. 

The  sail  locker  was  re-stowed  with  our  "best 
suit,"  and  between  the  coils  of  canvas  we  liber- 
ally spread  a  bundle  of  old  newspapers  brought 
out  by  the  mate.  "To  give  the  rats  something 
to  chew  on,"  he  remarked,  as  we  ran  the  stiff  new 
canvas  in,  tier  upon  tier. 

One  thing  that  Frenchy  called  my  attention 
to  in  the  stowing  of  the  locker  was  the  fact  that 
the  storm  canvas,  lower  tops'ls  and  stays'ls,  were 
placed  handy  for  immediate  removal,  the  mate 
assuring  himself  of  this  fact  by  personal  super- 
vision; indeed  he  knew  just  where  each  particular 
sail  was  located  in  the  locker,  and  could  go  in  and 
lay  his  hand  upon  it  in  the  darkest  night,  as  he 
more  than  once  demonstrated  during  the  course 
of  the  voyage. 

That  night  a  tired  lot  of  men  sat  down  to  sup- 
per. The  cold  salt  beef,  the  hard  bread  and  the 
can  of  tea  came  from  the  galley  in  their  usual 
order.  Fred,  who  was  mess  cook  for  that  week, 
went  back  to  the  galley,  after  depositing  the  reg- 


CHRISTMAS  ON  THE  HIGH  SEAS     55 

ulation  Saturday  night  grub.  As  he  left  the 
fo'c'sle  door  he  turned  back  at  us  with  a  grin  on 
his  wide  good  natured  face,  bristling  with  uneven 
outcroppings  of  yellow  stubble.  Fred  reminded 
me  of  an  amiable  plodder  hulking  out  in  his  dun- 
garee jacket,  while  the  watch  fell  to  on  the  beef 
and  tack. 

"I  guess  he  forgot  to  thank  the  cook  for  put- 
ting so  many  bugs  in  the  tea,"  ventured  Brenden. 

"Maybe  he's  going  aft  to  take  Christmas  Din- 
ner with  the  captain  in  the  cabin.  They  have  a 
real  plum  pudding  there ;  I  saw  it  in  the  galley," 
said  Joe. 

Plum  pudding!  Christmas!  The  thoughts  of 
loved  ones  far  away,  and  of  those  distant  homes 
that  perhaps  were  remembering  some  of  us  out 
on  the  broad  bosom  of  the  deep  waters,  came  as 
a  pang.  All  of  us,  I  believe,  felt  this.  For  a  mo- 
ment or  two  silence  ensued,  then  Fred  burst 
through  the  fo'c'sle  door  with  the  big  surprise. 

"Pie,  boys!  Pie!"  he  shouted,  depositing  three 
tin  plates  on  the  fo'c'sle  deck,  for  we  dined  with 
the  deck  as  a  table,  sitting  about  the  kids  on  low 
benches.  The  precious  pie  was  cut  with  the 
greatest  regard  for  equality  by  no  less  an  expert 
hand  than  that  of  Frenchy,  assisted  by  Australia, 
who  showed  us  how  to  cut  a  pie  into  three  parts 


56  UNDER  SAIL 

by  measuring  across  the  diameter  with  a  knife, 
adding  a  little  to  this,  and  then  this  length  went 
three  times  into  the  circumference. 

Jimmy  Marshall  failed  to  agree  with  this  the- 
ory, but  was  fairly  beaten  in  the  result,  for  Aus- 
tralia was  right.  The  pie  certainly  was  cut  into 
three  very  equal  parts. 

"An  engineer  in  the  mines  showed  me  this," 
said  Australia.  "He  says,  Tie  times  across  the 
pie,  is  all  the  way  around.'  Mathematics  is  wot 
he  calls  this."  Australia  was  nearly  right  at  that, 
and  the  marks  he  made  on  the  crust  of  the  confec- 
tions baked  by  Chow  served  as  a  reliable  guide 
for  Frenchy,  also  bolstering  him  immensely  in  the 
eyes  of  the  more  humble  members  of  the  port 
watch.  That  Australia  chap  certainly  knew  a 
thing  or  two,  even  if  he  was  not  the  best  sailor 
in  the  world. 

But  Jimmy  Marshall's  comment  was  simply, 
"Rats!" 

After  supper,  when  pipes  were  glowing,  and 
most  of  us  sought  our  bunks  for  the  hour  or  so 
that  remained  to  us  in  the  last  dog  watch,  a  dis- 
cussion arose  as  to  what  kind  of  pie  it  was. 
Frenchy,  the  great  gastronomic  authority, 
claimed  it  was  English  currant  pie.  "They  taste 


CHRISTMAS  ON  THE  HIGH  SEAS     57 

so  bitter,  that's  why  I  know,"  he  added  with  an 
air  of  finality. 

Others  differed  with  him.  Scouse  said  it  was 
red  crabapple  pie.  Martin  claimed  it  was  noth- 
ing but  plum  pie.  I  thought  it  tasted  like  cran- 
berry, but  was  not  sure.  At  last,  to  settle  the 
matter,  and  at  the  earnest  request  of  the  crabbed 
Jimmy,  Fred  trudged  aft  to  the  galley  to  consult 
Chow  and  wind  up  the  argument.  He  returned 
in  triumph  with  a  large  tin  can  done  up  in  a 
gaudy  red  label  marked  "Pie  Fruit." 

Shortly  after  entering  the  N.  E.  trades  we 
encountered  the  region  of  tropic  rains,  of  daily 
thunder  storms,  and  of  abundant  drinking  and 
washing  water.  We  rigged  an  old  sail  over  the 
gallows  frame  in  the  main  deck  to  catch  the  rain, 
which  was  teemed  through  a  canvas  pipe  to  the 
main  tank,  a  large  upright  iron  cylinder  stand- 
ing on  the  keelson  blocks  in  the  main  hold  just 
abaft  of  the  main  mast.  Our  allowance  of  three 
quarts  a  day,  per  man,  was  anything  but  satis- 
fying in  the  tropic  atmosphere  of  the  torrid  zone. 
At  least  half  of  this  "whack"  of  water  went  to 
the  galley  for  use  in  the  preparation  of  food  and 
the  rest  was  divided  between  the  scuttle  butt  and 
the  water  barrel,  from  which  it  was  drawn  spar- 


58  UNDER  SAIL 

ingly  for  washing  purposes ;  usually  a  mere  rinse 
to  clean  off  the  salt  of  a  sea  water  scrub. 

In  the  extreme  heat,  during  the  frequent  pe- 
riods of  calm,  our  suffering  through  the  lack  of 
water  became  intense.  The  Fuller,  like  many 
other  ships  sailing  from  New  York,  put  to  sea 
with  her  water  tank  barely  a  quarter  full,  relying 
on  the  tropic  rains  to  replenish  the  supply.  When 
the  rains  did  finally  come  we  fairly  reveled  in  the 
luxury  of  abundant  fresh  water,  drinking,  wash- 
ing clothes,  bathing,  and  just  plain  wasteful  wal- 
lowing in  the  refreshing  element.  With  the  first 
douse  of  rain  all  hands  turned  out  on  deck  to  fill 
their  pannikins  under  the  spouting  drains  from 
the  forward  house. 

The  conduct  of  a  deep  water  sailing  voyage 
in  the  old  days  of  wooden  ships  called  for  what 
today  would  be  considered  the  highest  type  of 
scientific  management.  In  the  maintenance  of 
the  vessel,  each  part  of  the  complicated  fabric 
received  its  due  attention  at  some  particular  point 
in  the  voyage  where  the  weather  was  favorable 
for  that  certain  operation.  So  in  the  entry  to 
the  rainy  belt,  that  uncertain  region  of  the  dol- 
drums where  almost  constant  precipitation  takes 
turn  about  with  calm  or  light  baffling  winds,  we 
were  turned  loose  on  the  job  of  scrubbing  paint 


CHRISTMAS  ON  THE  HIGH  SEAS     59 

work.  The  work  was  started  aft  and  each  watch 
did  its  own  side  of  the  ship,  there  being  much 
rivalry  as  to  who  was  doing  the  most  work. 
Everybody  took  a  hand  in  this  and  Brenden  and 
Marshall  would  curse  unmercifully  at  the  job 
when  well  out  of  earshot  of  the  after  guard.  Our 
hands  became  wrinkled  with  the  constant  wet,  the 
calloused  flesh  getting  soft  and  cheesy,  while  our 
oilskins,  in  which  we  worked  during  the  worst 
downpours,  became  soaked  and  clammy  through 
constant  use. 

We  were  not  allowed  the  bucket  of  classic 
"sewgee"  of  the  steam  ship  sailor,  a  mixture  of 
caustic  soda,  soft  soap  and  water,  but  were  pro- 
vided with  nothing  but  a  small  tin  of  brick  dust 
and  a  rag  of  burlap ;  a  rope  handled  deck  bucket 
and  a  small  swab  completed  the  outfit.  Add  to 
this  formula  an  abundance  of  "elbow  grease," 
and  slithers  of  tropic  rain,  and  you  get  paintwork 
polished  smooth  and  white  as  ivory.  A  week  or 
so,  with  all  hands  on  the  paintwork,  whenever  the 
working  of  the  ship  would  permit,  transformed 
her  into  a  model  of  neatness.  Woe  to  the  luck- 
less wretch  who  by  any  chance  marred  the  deck 
or  paintwork  with  a  drop  of  grease  or  tar. 

About  this  time  we  made  our  acquaintance 
with  the  flying  fish,  these  swift  travellers  often 


60  UNDER  SAIL 

shooting  over  our  deck  at  night  and  being  caught 
in  the  belly  of  one  of  the  courses  or  the  spanker. 
A  flying  fish  for  breakfast  is  not  bad,  and  many 
were  caught  by  the  men  on  deck  keeping  a  sharp 
lookout  for  them.  The  mates  were  also  watch- 
ing for  the  bag  of  flying  fish  and  whenever  one 
landed  on  the  poop  or  in  the  waist,  one  or  the 
other  of  the  mates  would  call  out  and  have  a  hand 
bring  the  fish  aft. 

One  night  a  fish  landed  somewhere  in  the  waist. 
We  could  hear  the  wet  splatter  of  the  flying  fins, 
as  it  was  calm  and  the  deck  quiet.  Mr.  Zerk, 
who  was  leaning  against  the  weather  swifter  of 
the  mizzen  shrouds,  roused  himself  and  called  out 
for  someone  to  bring  the  fish  aft. 

Several  of  the  watch  started  to  search  for  the 
visitor,  for  we  also  had  heard  him  land,  but  with- 
out success. 

"How  about  that  fish?"  shouted  the  mate,  af- 
ter a  decent  interval,  while  the  search  was  going 
on. 

"Can't  find  it,  sir,"  Joe  piped  up. 

"The  hell  you  can't!"  thundered  the  mate. 
"There  he  is,"  and  again  we  heard  a  faint  "splash, 
splash"  of  the  wings. 

"Get  a  light,  you  damn  fools,"  was  the  order, 
for  it  was  mighty  dark.  "Come  now  quick. 


CHRISTMAS  ON  THE  HIGH  SEAS     61 


62  UNDER  SAIL 

Pronto!"  and  as  Scouse  banged  on  the  door  of 
the  deck  room  occupied  by  Chips,  in  order  to  get 
him  to  open  the  lamp  locker,  we  thought  we  heard 
the  "splash,  splash"  again. 

With  the  aid  of  a  lantern  and  all  of  the  watch 
the  entire  deck  was  searched.  Finally,  Jimmy 
Marshall  let  out  a  whoop,  "Here  he  was!  Here 
he  was!"  Some  water  on  the  deck,  near  the  coils 
of  rope  hanging  from  the  main  pin  rail,  looked 
as  though  Jimmy  was  close  to  the  flying  fish. 

"Here  he  was!"  again  shouted  the  excited 
Jimmy,  grabbing  the  lantern  from  the  hand  of 
Scouse. 

"Here  he  what?"  demanded  the  mate,  coming 
down  into  the  waist.  The  mate  bent  over  the  wet 
spot  and  exploded  in  a  string  of  oaths.  "No  fly- 
ing fish  ever  made  that!  Here,  you!"  and  he 
grabbed  Jimmy.  "This  is  some  of  your  damn 
monkey  shines,  you  old  dried  up  bundle  of  sea 
tripe!  —  -  your  gray  hairs,  I'll  flying  fish 

you!  Lay  aloft  to  the  main  skysail  yard  and 
watch  the  stars !  I'll  call  you  down  on  deck  when- 
ever we  need  you!" 

For  several  nights  after  that  Jimmy  spent  his 
time  climbing  up  and  down  the  main  rigging, 
for  no  sooner  would  he  get  up  than  the  mate 


CHRISTMAS  ON  THE  HIGH  SEAS    63 

would  think  of  something  to  do  that  required  his 
presence  on  deck. 

The  flying  fish  episode  furnished  us  with  some- 
thing to  talk  about  in  the  fo'c'sle,  and  while 
Jimmy  always  tried  to  leave  the  impression  that 
the  joke  was  on  the  mate  and  the  rest  of  us,  we 
felt  that  his  over  zeal  in  discovering  the  puddle 
of  water  in  which  his  clever  hand  had  simulated 
the  nervous  flapping  of  the  fins  of  a  flying  fish 
had  turned  the  tables.  My  idea  was  that  Jimmy, 
after  seeing  how  well  the  thing  was  taking,  could 
not  resist  the  temptation  to  get  the  credit. 

We  also  harpooned  our  first  bonita,  a  very  ac- 
tive, virile  fish,  shaped  like  a  short  double  ended 
spindle  buoy,  and  striped  lengthwise.  These  fish 
are  exceedingly  lively  and  jump  about  with  ter- 
rific energy  when  brought  on  deck.  Before  tak- 
ing this  fish  to  the  galley,  Old  Smith  of  the  other 
watch,  and  Frenchy,  and  of  course  Jimmy  Mar- 
shall, tested  the  meat  with  a  silver  coin,  to  see  if 
it  was  of  the  poison  variety. 

"If  the  silver  turns  black  the  fish  is  poison," 
explained  Frenchy.  In  this  case  the  bonita  was 
pronounced  "good  to  eat,"  and  a  great  feast  was 
on  that  night;  however,  I  never  cared  much  for 
fish  anyway  and  did  not  touch  it.  Chow  had  cer- 


64  UNDER  SAIL 

tainly  made  an  ill  looking  mess  of  it,  garnished 
with  broken  tack,  and  basted  with  pork  fat. 

"You'll  wisht  you  had  a  bit  of  this  tucker  afore 
we  get  to  Honolulu,"  was  the  comment  of  Joe, 
who  proceeded  to  help  himself  liberally. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  FIGHT 

AN  undercurrent  of  trouble  had  been  running 
for  some  time,  finding  expression  in  much 
subdued  comment  and  criticism,  at  odd  moments, 
when  small  groups  of  the  watch  would  foregather 
about  the  fo'c'sle  during  the  dog  watch  below. 
These  dog  watch  hours  were,  during  fine  weather, 
given  over  largely  to  yarning,  smoking,  reading, 
or  playing  cards,  or  checkers,  and  to  the  perform- 
ance of  such  odd  jobs  as  sailors  do  during  their 
few  leisure  moments.  Big  George,  or  Scouse, 
as  we  called  him,  had  become  something  of  a 
bully,  and  Joe,  the  most  independent  of  his  sub- 
jects, had  on  several  occasions  taken  pains  to 
let  Scouse  understand  that  he  resented  the  way 
in  which  the  big  fellow  carried  on  among  the  far- 
mers of  the  watch.  Of  course  Scouse  never  dared 
open  his  mouth  to  any  of  the  real  sailors,  but  he 
had  gradually  set  himself  up  as  a  sort  of  autocrat 
among  the  pushers  of  the  "bear." 

The  development  of  this  condition  was  so  long 

65 


66  UNDER  SAIL 

in  process  of  evolution,  that  several  times 
Frenchy  and  Brenden  threatened  to  clean  things 
up  and  put  an  end  to  the  stumbling  block  that 
threatened  our  f  o'c'sle  democracy.  Always,  how- 
ever, Jimmy  Marshall  intervened.  "Leave  'em 
alone.  Things  will  break,  see  if  they  don't,  an' 
Vll  get  it  good,  'e  will." 

Following  our  siege  of  paint-scrubbing,  we 
started  to  tar  down  the  standing  rigging,  work 
that  devolved  largely  upon  Scouse  and  his  gang 
of  understrappers,  making  them  the  bright  par- 
ticular stars  in  the  firmament  of  wrath  whenever, 
by  any  chance,  they  happened  to  drop  so  much  as 
a  pin  point  of  tar  on  the  immaculate  paintwork 
or  deck. 

The  mate  on  these  occasions  outdid  himself, 
and  by  the  fluency  of  his  language  and  the  sur- 
prising richness  of  his  imagery  he  afforded  a  cer- 
tain amusement  to  those  of  us  who  were  the  lis- 
teners. The  targets  of  these  profane  outbursts 
had  no  redress,  and,  if  they  lost  none  of  their 
self  respect,  it  was  simply  because  none  of  that 
useless  commodity  was  left  clinging  to  their  de- 
voted hides.  Scouse,  Fred  and  Martin  had  re- 
ceived recent  broadsides,  and  with  half  an  eye 
we  could  see  that  Mr.  Zerk  was  watching  Joe 
with  a  view  to  exercising  a  few  new  epithets. 


THE  FIGHT  67 

It  was  our  afternoon  watch  on  deck;  we  turned 
out  at  seven  bells  to  get  our  dinner,  and  Joe,  who 
was  mess  carrier  for  that  week,  turned  out  lively 
to  get  the  "kids"  of  cracker  hash  from  the  galley. 
A  gentle  sea  was  rolling  in  on  our  quarter  and 
Joe  entered  the  fo'c'sle  door,  the  kid  of  cracker 
hash  under  his  arm,  the  bread  bag  full  of  hard 
tack  in  one  hand,  and  a  large  can  of  steaming  hot 
tea  in  the  other,  the  Fuller  gave  one  of  her  cork- 
screw twists,  and  Joe  stumbled  over  the  sill,  dous- 
ing Scouse  with  about  half  of  the  hot  tea. 

Scouse  was  furious,  and  at  the  same  time  half 
of  our  whack  of  tea  was  running  in  the  scuppers. 

Little  things  assume  monstrous  proportions  af- 
ter a  group  of  men  have  been  in  close  quarters  for 
a  long  time.  This  is  particularly  so  when  they 
have  to  live  in  such  intimate  and  trying  proxim- 
ity as  that  in  the  fo'c'sle  of  a  sailing  ship.  On  a 
deep -waterman,  months  at  sea  without  even  a 
smell  of  land,  let  alone  a  sight  of  it,  the  commu- 
nity life  is  bound  to  wear  thin  the  edges  of  daily 
intercourse.  Every  small  incident  is  magnified 
far  beyond  its  worth,  and  only  a  trifle  is  needed 
to  start  a  racket  of  some  kind.  Brenden  and 
Frenchy  cursed  the  luckless  Joe  for  a  clumsy 
lout.  Jimmy  called  him  a  "bloody  rum  cat,"  a 
favorite  expression  of  the  little  sailor,  and 


68  UNDER  SAIL 

Scouse,  foaming  with  rage,  was  only  restrained 
by  the  rest  of  us  from  sailing  right  into  Joe,  re- 
gardless of  the  cracker  hash,  the  remaining  tea, 
or  anything  else.  Joe  was  equally  furious.  He 
refused  to  touch  the  tea,  saying  he  had  spilled 
his  whack,  and  the  rest  of  us  might  shut  up  our 
talk  about  it. 

At  this  Australia  and  Fred  insisted  that  Joe 
have  his  tea,  sharing  with  the  rest.  Talk  became 
loud,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  whole  affair  eight 
bells  struck  and  we  tumbled  on  deck,  our  dinner 
half  finished.  Scouse  and  Joe  went  to  their 
work  in  the  main  rigging;  some  were  to  leeward 
of  the  deckhouse  stitching  sails,  while  I  passed  a 
ball  of  marline  for  Frenchy,  who  was  serving  the 
wire  bolt  rope  of  the  foot  of  an  old  lower  tops'l 
that  we  were  repairing. 

He  was  facing  aft  toward  the  main  shrouds, 
when  suddenly  he  started,  his  eyes  seemed  to 
bulge  from  his  head,  and  he  dropped  his  serving 
mallet,  while  at  the  same  time  there  was  a  bump 
behind  me  on  the  deck,  and  Frenchy  gasped,  "Ma 
foi!  Look,  Felix!" 

I  turned  quickly  and  there  on  the  white  deck 
below  the  main  rigging  was  a  big  black  greasy 
splotch  of  tar,  and  Joe's  tar  pot  rolling  into  the 
scupper. 


THE  FIGHT  69 

The  silence  that  followed  was  painful.  Mr. 
Zerk  came  forward  from  the  weather  quarterbitt 
where  he  was  smoking  his  after  dinner  pipe,  and 
Joe  dropped  down  the  Jacob's  ladder  to  the  deck 
under  a  fire  of  insulting  profanity  from  the  mate. 
Whipping  off  his  dungaree  jacket,  he  started  to 
swab  up  the  defiling  tar  before  it  could  soak  well 
into  the  deck  planks. 

Scouse,  whom  Frenchy  saw  unhitch  the  lan- 
yard of  the  pot  as  he  worked  above  Joe,  went 
on  with  his  tarring  without  batting  an  eye. 
Trouble  was  on  foot,  however,  in  the  port  watch. 

We  went  below  at  eight  bells,  four  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon,  but  Joe  remained  on  deck  to  re- 
move the  last  vestiges  of  tar,  and  Scouse  entered 
the  fo'c'sle,  speaking  to  no  one.  The  trick  played 
on  Joe  was  so  contemptible  that,  so  far  as  the 
common  feeling  went,  Scouse  had  placed  himself 
beyond  the  pale,  and  no  man  cared  to  break  the 
ice  by  addressing  him.  That  big  Scouse  felt  this 
was  certain,  and  the  fact  that  it  hurt  at  least  at- 
tested a  few  remaining  embers  of  decent  feeling. 

The  first  dog  watch  that  day  was  unusually 
quiet,  all  hands  mending  and  reading  and  won- 
dering what  the  outcome  would  be  when  Joe  got 
the  tar  cleaned  up  on  deck.  At  five  bells  Joe  re- 
turned to  the  fo'c'sle  with  the  supper,  a  kid  of  salt 


70 


UNDER  SAIL 


THE  FIGHT  71 

pork  and  cabbage.  Martin,  who  had  busied  him- 
self in  the  galley,  brought  in  a  pan  of  "dandy 
funk,"  a  baked  mass  of  hard  tack  and  molasses, 
a  great  delicacy  with  us  and  only  possible  at  rare 
intervals  when  Chow  would  permit  us  to  take  up 
the  space  in  his  galley  range.  However,  the 
dandy  funk  went  begging.  Joe  was  sullen  and 
refused  to  touch  it.  Scouse  ignored  it,  and  so 
did  everyone  else  with  the  exception  of  Martin, 
who  for  once  enjoyed  a  complete  meal  of  our 
favorite  dessert.  Conversation  during  supper 
was  strained  to  the  breaking  point,  and  we  were 
all  glad  to  be  away  as  soon  as  possible  and  get 
out  on  deck. 

The  second  dog  watch  went  by  without  inci- 
dent, as  we  were  rushed  about  the  braces,  sweat- 
ing up  for  the  night,  trimming  yards,  and  labor- 
ing at  the  bilge  pumps.  It  was  clear,  but  with 
no  moon,  and  at  eight  bells  we  went  forward  to 
the  square  under  the  fo'c'sle  head.  The  starboard 
watch  were  called  aft  by  the  second  mate,  to  some 
task  of  horsing  up  this  yard  or  that,  and  every- 
thing was  propitious  for  the  coming  battle. 
Blood  alone  could  wipe  out  the  feud  between 
Scouse  and  Joe. 

"And  I  hope  he  gets  a  damn  good  lickin'," 


72  UNDER  SAIL 

confided  Martin  to  me  as  we  went  forward,  re- 
ferring to  Scouse. 

"Too  heavy,  Mart,"  was  my  opinion. 

"But  Australia  says  as  how  Joe  can  handle  his 
self.  That  boy  ain't  no  slouch,  and  he's  mad. 
You  bet  he's  mad,"  insisted  Martin. 

That  Joe  was  mad,  fighting  mad,  went  with- 
out saying.  He  had  the  stinging  insults  from 
the  mate  still  ringing  in  his  ears,  and  the  vile  tac- 
tics of  Scouse,  culminating  in  the  tar  pot  trick, 
had  steeled  Joe  to  the  point  of  desperation. 
Scouse,  on  the  other  hand,  faced  the  question  of 
fighting  for  his  right  to  exist  in  the  foVsle.  For 
a  man  to  be  ostracized  by  the  crowd  forward  is 
a  living  hell,  as  has  been  proven  on  other  voy- 
ages. 

Aggravated  as  the  situation  was  by  the  hedg- 
ing discipline  of  the  ship,  the  preparations  for  the 
battle  were  as  secret  as  though  we  were  an  ille- 
gal boxing  club  operating  in  some  blue-stocking 
community.  Jimmy  Marshall  decided  all  the  de- 
tails, jumping  around  as  busy  as  a  field  louse  at 
harvest  time.  He  elected  himself  referee  and 
told  off  Australia  and  Brenden  to  look  after 
Scouse,  while  Martin  and  myself  were  detailed 
to  take  care  of  Joe. 

Our  men  stripped  to  the  waist,  bare  knuckles 


THE  FIGHT  73 

and  bare  feet,  with  the  "ring"  bounded  by  the 
fore  pinrail  to  leeward,  the  fife  rail,  the  knight 
heads,  and  the  fore  side  of  the  fo'c'sle,  all  dimly 
lighted  by  the  fo'c'sle  lamp,  moved  to  the  door- 
way by  Jimmy,  and  shedding  a  faint  yellow 
gleam  over  the  space  on  deck. 

Aft,  the  watch  under  the  second  mate  were 
going  through  the  first  half  hour  of  trimming 
yards,  and  the  general  shake  up  of  things  with 
which  the  officers  usually  "woke  up"  their  crowd. 
No  time  had  been  lost  by  Jimmy,  for  he  know 
just  what  to  do,  and  Joe  was  facing  Scouse  with 
blood  in  his  eyes,  a  very  few  minutes  after  eight 
bells. 

"Not  much  room,  but  good  enough  for  a  fight, 
if  it's  fight  you  want,"  said  Jimmy,  buzzing 
around  the  men  to  see  that  all  was  in  order.  Two 
buckets  were  filled  with  water  from  over  side, 
hand  swabs  were  got  from  the  deck  chest,  and 
our  men  lined  up  for  work. 

Scouse  weighed  about  two  hundred  pounds, 
topping  Joe  by  twenty  pounds,  but  for  all  that 
they  were  well  matched,  as  Joe  had  the  advan- 
tage of  agility  and  the  better  chance  to  dodge  the 
hard  knocks  of  the  very  substantial  deck  fixtures 
all  about. 

Jimmy  brought  out  a  big  silver  watchi  and  an- 


74  UNDER  SAIL 

nounced  that  the  rounds  would  be  three  minutes, 
"An'  no  punchin'  in  a  clinch,  an'  no  noise.  These 
is  the  Mark  o'  Queensberry  rules,"  said  Jimmy 
with  great  emphasis. 

The  fo'c'sle  lookout  of  the  other  watch  came 
aft  to  the  break  of  the  fo'c'sle  head  and  stood  by 
the  mast,  ready  to  warn  us  of  a  surprise  from 
aft.  It  was  to  be  a  silent  fight,  a  desperate,  un- 
compromising battle  for  the  freedom  of  the 
fo'c'sle  slaves,  and  the  general  edification  of  all 
hands,  long  wearied  by  the  bickering  between  Joe 
and  the  red  head. 

The  men  backed  off  in  the  gloom. 

"Go  to  it!"  cried  Jimmy. 

They  clashed  with  the  hard  thuds  of  calloused 
fists.  Both  men  were  in  the  prime  of  condition. 
Both  were  crazy  to  fight.  Big  Scouse  swung  at 
Joe,  landing  a  fraction  before  Joe  connected  with 
the  big  fellow's  wind.  The  blow  brought  blood 
spurting  from  Joe's  nose  and  cut  his  lip.  "Play 
for  his  wind,  Joe!  The  bread  basket,  Joe!  Bat 
'im  in  the  eye!  Kill  him!"  The  side  lines,  hid, 
in  the  shadow  of  the  fo'c'sle,  were  with  Joe. 

For  a  minute  or  two  there  was  a  rapid  ex- 
change of  blows  without  thought  of  guard  or 
parry.  To  get  in  as  many  and  as  strong  a  lot 
of  blows  as  possible  was  the  simple  system. 


THE  FIGHT  75 

Jimmy  cried  out  "time,"  but  no  account  of  time 
or  rounds  was  contemplated  in  the  scheme  of 
things.  Fight  was  the  business,  and  to  a  finish. 

"Biff!"  They  slammed  against  the  side  of 
the  deck  house ;  a  splotch  of  blood,  dimly  visible 
in  the  night,  smeared  the  white  paint.  Once 
again  they  swung  back,  when  the  ship  gave  a 
sudden  roll,  as  a  blow  from  Joe's  right  landed 
on  Scouse's  nose,  toppling  him  backward  against 
the  fife  rail.  An  iron  pin,  the  one  used  to  belay 
the  chain  sheets  of  the  lower  tops'l,  caught  Scouse 
behind  the  ear  and,  with  a  grunt,  he  was  "out." 

Fortunately,  nothing  but  rumors  of  the  fight 
got  aft.  Scouse  was  well  beaten,  and  came  to  in 
his  bunk,  after  Australia  and  Brenden  had 
doused  him  with  salt  water.  Joe  was  badly  bat- 
tered up,  and  both  men  carried  "shiners."  As 
Jimmy  Marshall  said,  "Honors  is  even,  but  it 
was  a  wery  wery  ragged  fight." 

The  mate  next  morning  greeted  the  watch  with 
a  broad  grin,  and  the  story  of  the  mill,  told  to 
the  starboard  watch  by  their  lookout  Tommy,  lost 
nothing  in  the  telling.  As  for  the  port  watch, 
we  were  glad  it  was  over  and  once  again  the  at- 
mosphere below  returned  to  normal.  A  few 
nights  later  Joe  and  Scouse  chummed  together, 


76  XJNDER  SAIL 

and  from  that  day  to  the  night  in  Honolulu, 
when  Joe  deserted  and  went  out  on  the  barken- 
tine  Irmgard  to  Frisco,  he  and  Scouse  were  in- 
separable. 


CHAPTER  V 

NEPTUNE  COMES  ON  BOARD 

WE  were  then  in  about  five  degrees  of 
North  Latitude,  the  trades  had  failed  us, 
and  the  doldrums  claimed  their  share  of  bracing 
and  hauling,  giving  us  little  time  for  any  other 
work.  Every  ripple  on  the  brazen  sea  called  for 
a  different  angle  of  the  yards,  and  in  dead  calm 
we  lay  with  our  head  yards  braced  sharp  up  and 
the  after  yards  square,  the  courses  guyed  out 
from  the  masts  by  slap  lines  and  bowlines.  Dur- 
ing the  day  a  vertical  sun  beat  down  on  our 
bare  deck  in  unmerciful  fashion,  lifting  the 
scorching  pitch  from  the  seams  and  all  but  add- 
ling our  senses  with  the  heat.  The  mates  be- 
came more  and  more  exacting,  every  job  palled, 
and  the  stuffy,  unpalatable  food  of  the  foVsle 
stuck  in  our  throats.  The  vessel  was  a  chip  of 
hell  floating  on  the  unforgiving  ocean;  riveted 
for  days,  that  stretched  to  weeks,  amid  the 
patches  of  rusty  sea  weed,  a  thousand  feet  across, 

77 


78  UNDER  SAIL 

that  tangled  about  the  rudder  post,  great  sun- 
scorched  fragments  of  the  dead  Sargasso  Sea. 

And  all  of  this  time  we  knew  that  the  South- 
ern branch  of  the  Equatorial  Current  was  send- 
ing us  back  to  the  W.  N.  W.  at  the  rate  of  several 
miles  a  day! 

In  watch  below,  choking  with  the  heat,  we  lay 
tossing  sleeplessly  in  our  bunks  while  the  sickly 
smell  of  the  bilges  came  up  from  the  fore  peak 
through  the  wind  sails  let  down  to  ventilate  the 
hold.  Cockroaches  throve  in  added  millions,  and 
we  were  treated  to  our  first  rations  of  weevily 
tack.  The  little  white  worms  seemed  to  be 
everywhere.  The  cracker  hash  was  riddled  with 
them  as  Chow  selected  the  rottenest  bread  for 
this  purpose.  Most  of  us  developed  boils,  and 
the  dark  brown  taste,  left  by  the  vile  food,  re- 
sulted in  a  general  loss  of  appetite.  The  heat  even 
forced  the  rats  from  the  hold  and  on  a  dark  night 
we  could  hear  them  scampering  about  under  the 
fo'c'sle  head.  The  healthy  sea  tan  of  the  tem- 
perate zone  left  our  faces,  and  we  became  peev- 
ish and  morose. 

Some  of  us  tried  to  forget  our  misery  by  read- 
ing the  books  sent  aboard  by  the  Seamen's  Friend 
Society,  others  whiled  away  the  hot  watches  be- 
low, when  sleep  was  impossible,  by  making  won- 


NEPTUNE  COMES  ON  BOARD  79 

derful  models  of  ships  in  bottles,  almost  a  lost 
art  nowadays,  and  revived  on  board  the  Fuller 
by  Frenchy.  Most  of  these  works  of  art  found 
resting  places  behind  the  bars  of  waterfront  sa- 
loons in  Honolulu. 

One  blessing  that  came  to  us  in  this  hell  afloat 
was  the  fact  that  the  mates  winked  at  the  snatch- 
ing of  a  few  hours'  sleep  during  the  night  watches 
on  deck,  otherwise  there  is  no  telling  how  some  of 
us  would  have  survived. 

Our  fo'c'sle  scuttle  butt  soured,  and  Old  Smith 
of  the  starboard  watch  emptied  it  one  Sunday 
morning  and  charred  the  inside  with  a  bundle  of 
rope  yarns  to  which  he  set  fire.  He  told  us  how 
water  gets  bad  in  the  tropics,  and  then  how  its 
own  impurities  destroy  themselves.  "The  bugs 
scoff  each  other  and  die,"  and,  went  on  Smithy, 
"they  drops  to  the  bottom  of  the  butt,  like  white 
skeletons,  and  the  water  is  as  clean  and  good  as 
ever." 

About  this  time  considerable  activity  went  on 
forward  among  the  old  sailors  in  both  watches. 
One  dog  watch,  men  from  both  sides  of  the 
fo'c'sle  went  aft  and  interviewed  the  captain. 

"We  are  near  the  line,"  said  Frenchy  to  me 
shortly  afterward.  "Don't  make  any  fuss  about 


80  UNDER  SAIL 

what  goes  on,  and  you'll  get  off  easy,"  he  cau- 
tioned. 

There  were  quite  a  few  of  us  who  had  never 
crossed  the  equator,  and  the  preparations  in  the 
dog  watches  augured  ill  for  those  who  chose  to 
resist  the  just  tribute  demanded  by  Father  Nep- 
tune of  all  green  sailors  who,  in  those  days,  ven- 
tured across  the  magic  bounds. 

A  fair  slant  of  wind  had  helped  us  along  for 
a  few  days,  when  the  Old  Man  called  Jimmy  aft 
and  imparted  important  information. 

At  eight  bells  in  the  afternoon  watch,  as  all 
hands  were  mustering  in  the  waist,  a  hoarse  hail 
from  forward  greeted  us. 

"Ship  Ahoy!  Ship  Ahoy!"  came  the  deep  bass 
summons  from  a  point  beneath  the  bow. 

"Forward,  there!  Who  hails  us?"  answered 
the  captain,  who  stood  out  on  the  poop,  replying 
to  the  voice  from  forward. 

"Father  Neptune  hails  us,  Captain,"  answered 
Hitchen,  returning  from  the  bow.  "He  asks  if 
there  are  any  of  his  children  on  board  who  would 
receive  his  blessing  on  their  heads." 

"Aye,  bring  him  on  board,"  ordered  the  skip- 
per, a  broad  grin  lighting  his  features,  and  the 
two  mates  reflected  the  feeling  aft  by  joining 
in  the  smiles. 


NEPTUNE  COMES  ON  BOARD  81 

A  noise  of  trudging  along  the  deck  followed, 
the  King  of  the  Sea,  his  own  whiskers  hidden  be- 
hind a  broad  beard  of  rope  yarns,  a  bright  red 
harpoon  in  his  right  hand  serving  as  a  trident, 
and  a  large  razor,  made  of  hoop  iron,  stuck  in  his 
belt,  walked  aft.  He  was  draped  in  the  folds  of 
an  old  boat  sail,  and  for  all  of  his  regal  trim- 
mings we  recognized  the  famous  Jimmy.  A  reti- 
nue followed,  rigged  out  in  true  deep-water  style, 
and  carrying  a  tub  between  them,  which  was  de- 
posited on  deck  just  aft  of  the  mainmast. 

"Captain,"  said  Neptune,  "I  am  told  as  'ow 
you  'ave  green  'ands  on  board  who  'ave  to  be 
shaved." 

"Yes,  Your  Majesty,  we  have  some  with  the 
hayseed  still  in  their  whiskers,"  answered  the 
skipper. 

"Bring  'em  forth !"  thundered  the  King,  unlim- 
bering  his  razor  and  passing  the  trident  to  the 
safe  keeping  of  his  wife,  Amphitrite,  in  the  per- 
son of  Axel,  who  towered  two  feet  above  the  head 
of  the  King. 

However,  what  Jimmy  lacked  in  stature  he 
made  up  in  efficiency,  and  in  the  imperious 
glance  of  scorn  with  which  he  greeted  eight  of 
us  who  were  lined  up  for  his  inspection. 

Old  Smith  grabbed  me  by  the  neck;  I  was 


82  UNDER  SAIL 

seated  on  the  bottom  of  an  upturned  bucket  at 
the  feet  of  the  King. 

"Your  name?"  demanded  His  Majesty,  and  as 
I  was  about  to  answer  a  filthy  swab  of  soapsuds 
and  grease  was  thrust  in  my  mouth  and  smeared 
over  my  face  and  the  shaving  began,  ending  by 
a  back  somersault  into  the  tub  of  water  behind. 

"Next!"  called  Neptune  in  true  barber  shop 
style,  and  so,  in  turn,  each  of  the  green  hands 
went  through  the  ordeal ;  the  least  willing  getting 
the  most  attention.  Scouse  and  Joe  were  among 
the  lubbers,  and  were  accorded  special  rites  to 
the  vast  amusement  of  all  hands.  Australia 
wound  up  the  entertainment  by  handing  Scouse 
and  Joe  pieces  of  gunny  sack,  smeared  with  black 
paint,  with  which  to  wipe  their  faces. 

"All  right  now!"  called  the  mate,  after  the 
skipper  had  left  the  deck.  "Turn  to  and  clean 
up,"  and  we  were  back  again  to  the  rigid  disci- 
pline of  the  sea,  relaxed  for  a  brief  hour  to  let 
King  Neptune  hold  his  sway. 

After  crossing  the  line  we  picked  up  the  first 
whisperings  of  the  S.  E.  trades,  that  soon  began 
to  blow  steadily  and  ushered  in  another  busy 
stage  of  the  voyage.  The  refreshing  wind  and 
falling  temperature  brought  renewed  vigor  to  our 
jaded  crew.  Although  we  had  commenced  to  feel 


NEPTUNE  COMES  ON  BOARD  83 

the  lack  of  fresh  provisions,  scurvy  did  not  bother 
us,  possibly  owing  to  the  regular  issue  of  lime 
juice,  but  the  constant  repetition  of  salt  pork 
and  salt  beef,  the  weevily  hard  tack,  and  the 
abominable  slumgullion,  a  stew  made  from 
canned  mutton,  made  us  crave  for  something  de- 
cent to  eat. 

Frenchy  often  drove  us  to  the  verge  of  dis- 
traction with  his  stories  of  the  cooks  at  home  in 
Dunkirk,  until  we  finally  had  to  put  the  ban  on 
that  sort  of  discourse.  Again,  we  landed  several 
bonitas  teeming  with  energy,  and,  after  the  sil- 
ver coin  test,  all  hands  fell  to  with  a  will,  myself 
included.  We  also  hooked  a  shark  and  hauled 
him  on  board  by  a  "handy  billy"  snatched  to  the 
fore  rigging. 

The  regular  routine  of  setting  up  shrouds  and 
stays  preparatory  to  entering  the  heavy  weather 
off  the  Horn,  now  began  in  earnest.  We  had 
left  New  York  with  a  full  set  of  new  hemp  lan- 
yards in  our  lower  rigging.  The  lanyard  knots 
were  turned  in  in  a  slovenly  manner,  with  a  lub- 
berly disregard  for  appearances,  that  proved  an 
eyesore  to  Captain  Nichols.  We  cast  new  knots 
in  these,  and  set  up  all  standing  rigging  anew; 
a  long,  interesting  job  that  initiated  us  into  the 
mysteries  of  "rackings"  and  the  "Spanish  wind- 


84  UNDER  SAIL 

lass,"  and  the  practical  workings  of  the  various 
"purchases"  and  "burtons";  the  "luff  tackles," 
and  the  "gun  tackles." 

The  mate  was  the  leading  spirit  in  these  pro- 
ceedings, staying  on  deck  practically  all  day  to 
supervise  the  work.  As  we  would  set  up  one  pair 
of  shrouds  to  port  and  another  to  starboard, 
bringing  them  to  a  "full  due,"  the  mate  was  al- 
ways there  to  say  when  to  clap  on  the  racking  and 
"come  up"  on  the  rigging  luffs. 

How  the  mate  stood  it  often  amazed  me,  for 
he  was  very  lively  at  night,  but  toward  the  end 
of  this  work  the  second  mate  would  stand  his  last 
dog  watch  for  him,  giving  our  first  officer  a  six 
hour  spell  of  sleep  every  other  day.  What  this 
means  on  a  watch  and  watch  racket,  sailors  who 
have  traveled  the  long  voyage  route  will  know. 

The  real  sailors  came  to  the  fore  during  this 
time  in  both  watches,  and  Frenchy,  Brenden,  and 
Marshall,  of  our  side,  with  Smith,  Axel,  and 
Hitchen  of  the  starboard  watch,  proved  their 
rightful  claim  to  the  full  rating  of  A.  B.  Mr. 
Stoddard,  who  was  a  bit  weak  on  his  marline 
spike  seamanship,  though  a  good  watch  officer, 
made  up  for  things  by  the  way  he  bawled  about 
and  hurried  and  scurried  his  watch  during  the 
time  the  mate  was  on  deck.  His  men  hated  him 


NEPTUNE  COMES  ON  BOARD  85 

thoroughly  and  we  were  glad  that  he  had  very 
little  to  do  with  us. 

Aboard  a  real  shipshape  and  Bristol  fashion 
deepwaterman  of  the  old  school,  if  there  be  any 
such  left  today,  everything  is  done  according  to 
the  custom  of  the  sea.  From  the  main  truck  to 
the  keel,  from  the  outermost  end  of  the  flying 
jibboom  to  the  last  band  on  the  spanker,  the 
ancient  art  of  seamanship  has  decreed  the  ex- 
act way  in  which  certain  things  shall  be  done. 
The  deadeyes  carry  their  knots  inboard,  forward 
to  starboard,  and  aft  to  port.  The  lanyard 
lengths  are  justly  proportioned  to  the  length  of 
the  stay  they  extend,  so  the  required  "give"  will 
be  right,  and  the  shroud  pairs,  stays,  and  back- 
stays, are  passed  over  the  mast  heads  and  rest 
upon  the  trestle  trees,  in  due  and  proper  form; 
the  same  in  all  ships  worthy  of  the  name. 

Nations  differ  in  their  customs,  and  likewise  in 
their  rigs.  No  Italian  ship  can  sail  the  sea  with 
a  straight  martingale,  and  no  other  ship  would 
venture  forth  with  one  that  was  anything  but 
true. 

For  weeks  at  a  time,  after  our  entry  into  the 
southern  trades,  it  was  hardly  necessary  to  touch 
a  brace  except  for  the  sweating  up  each  night 
in  the  last  dog  watch,  when  a  swig  or  two  on  the 


86  UNDER  SAIL 

ropes  would  bring  back  any  slack  that  had 
worked  around  the  pins.  The  job  of  setting  up 
standing  rigging  completed,  we  turned  our  at- 
tention to  the  running  gear.  We  rove  off  new 
whips  on  all  the  braces,  using  an  eye  splice  that 
was  a  favorite  with  the  mate,  being  tucked  after 
the  manner  of  a  sailmaker's  splice,  that  is,  the 
continuity  of  the  strands  of  the  rope  was  pre- 
served, the  appearance  of  the  whips  being  very 
trim. 

The  tops'l  downhauls  were  rove  off  with  new 
rope,  and  the  gear  of  all  the  lower  stays'ls,  lower 
tops'ls  and  courses  was  overhauled  and  replaced 
where  needed. 

As  we  began  to  lift  the  Southern  Cross  and 
the  trades  left  us,  we  again  shifted  sail,  an  all 
day  job  that  this  time  fell  on  a  Sunday,  and  when 
completed  found  us  under  our  best  suit  of  can- 
vas ready  for  that  storm  corner  of  the  voyage, 
Cape  Horn.  We  overhauled  the  rudder  tackles, 
reeving  new  purchases  "with  the  sun,"  as  indeed 
all  purchases  are  rove.  Oil  bags  were  made, 
shaped  like  beech  nuts,  bound  with  ratline  stuff, 
and  fitted  with  a  stout  becket.  By  filling  these 
with  heavy  non-freezing  animal  or  vegetable  oil 
and  puncturing  them  with  a  sail  needle,  they  af- 


NEPTUNE  COMES  ON  BOARD  87 

forded  the  best  means  for  spreading  oil  on  the 
waters  in  time  of  storm. 

One  sail  in  particular  that  we  bent  at  this 
time  made  a  great  impression  on  me;  this  was 
a  heavy  storm  spencer  made  of  dark  hemp  can- 
vas, soft  and  pliable  even  when  wet,  unlike  the 
stiff  white  American  cotton  stuff  that  rips  out 
your  finger  nails  when  fighting  the  bellying  folds, 
tough  as  sheet  iron,  as  it  slams  out  from  a  buck- 
ing yard.  The  main  spencer  was  evidently  an 
acquisition  from  some  Asiatic  or  European  voy- 
age. It  bent  to  an  iron  jackstay,  and  furled  in  to 
the  mast  with  a  set  of  brails,  being  cut  "leg-o'- 
mutton,"  the  sheet  hauling  aft  to  big  eyebolts  on 
either  side  of  the  waist. 

Double  lashings  were  passed  on  all  of  the  life- 
boat gripes.  Rolling  and  jumper  tackles  were 
got  ready  for  the  lower  and  tops'l  yards,  to  re- 
lieve the  stress  on  yards  and  parrals,  and  straps 
and  whips  were  prepared,  and  laid  aside,  for  use 
as  preventer  braces  should  the  necessity  arise.  In 
these  preparations  on  the  Fuller  we  had  a  fore- 
sight of  what  to  expect  when  off  the  dreaded 
Cape;  at  the  same  time  we  were  certain  that  no 
vessel  was  ever  better  or  more  intelligently 
groomed  for  heavy  weather. 

These  preparations  carried  us  well  down  to  the 


88  UNDER  SAIL 

latitude  of  the  River  Plate ;  here  we  were  warned 
by  the  wise  ones  to  expect  some  weather,  which 
was  not  long  in  coming. 

Our  watch  had  just  gone  below  at  midnight, 
when  a  sou'wester  zipped  in  from  the  distant 
land,  a  live  whole  gale,  sweetened  with  the  breath 
of  the  Patagonian  prairies  that  stretched  for 
leagues  beneath  its  origin.  The  starboard  watch 
started  to  shorten  sail,  but  by  four  bells  in  the 
midwatch  things  were  getting  so  far  ahead  of 
them  that  all  hands  were  called,  and  we  tumbled 
out  in  the  midst  of  a  Bedlam  of  thrashing  gear 
and  general  confusion. 

Most  of  the  port  watch  were  ordered  aloft  to 
take  in  the  fore  upper  tops'l,  thrashing  in  its  gear, 
while  the  ship  plunged  ahead  under  lower  tops'ls,. 
reefed  fore  course  and  stays'ls.  The  starboard 
watch  were  completing  the  job  of  furling  the 
main  tops'l,  and  with  two  of  our  men  to  help, 
were  about  to  tackle  the  mains'l. 

I  was  on  the  fore  upper  tops'l  yard,  with 
Frenchy  at  the  lee  yardarm,  and  Scouse  in  be- 
tween me  and  the  mast.  We  were  just  passing 
the  last  of  the  sea  gaskets,  when  the  lower  tops'l 
yard  seemed  to  lift  up  in  the  air  with  a  sudden 
jump  for  we  were  standing  on  it,  instead  of  on 
the  footropes  of  the  upper  tops'l.  A  great  smash- 


NEPTUNE  COMES  ON  BOARD  89 

ing  below  us,  and  the  loud  impact  of  something 
big  and  hard  banging  against  the  yard  under  our 
feet,  sent  us  clambering  to  the  upper  stick  for 
our  lives. 

"Lee  fore  sheet's  adrift!"  someone  shouted. 
There  was  a  rush  in  to  the  mast  to  escape  the 
heavy  spectacle  iron,  and  the  cluster  of  flying 
clew  garnet  blocks,  and  the  next  thing  we  knew 
we  were  ordered  to  lay  out  on  the  fore  yard  and 
secure  the  sail. 

"Lay  down  and  secure  fores'l!"  came  the  order 
from  the  mate,  who  stood  on  the  fo'c'sle  head, 
back  to  the  gale,  bellowing  up  his  instructions. 

Six  of  us  slid  down  to  the  top  and  out  on  the 
jumping  foreyard.  The  buntlines  and  leechlines 
were  finally  hauled  home,  and  we  got  our  gas- 
kets about  the  flying  iron.  A  weird  morning  light 
was  then  breaking  in  the  east  and  as  our  watch 
below  was  gone,  all  hands  remained  on  deck  for 
morning  coffee  after  we  hove  her  to  under  lower 
tops'ls,  fore  and  main  storm  stays'ls,  and  try- 
s'l. 

The  Pampero  gave  us  a  taste  of  real  weather, 
and  came  as  an  actual  relief  after  the  long  mo- 
notonous passage  through  the  trades  and  dol- 
drums. 


CHAPTER  VI 

LIFE  IN  THE  FO'c'SLE 

WITH  livelier  weather  of  the  Southern  lati- 
tudes we  were  often  exercised  in  tacking 
and  wearing  ship,  and  soon  became  a  very  well 
drilled  company,  sending  the  big  three-sticker 
about  in  record  time.  The  Fuller  was  lively  in 
stays  and  with  our  small  crew  required  the  smart- 
est kind  of  work  in  handling. 

With  all  hands,  including  the  "idlers,"  that  is, 
the  carpenter,  cook  and  cabin  steward,  we  mus- 
tered twenty  men  forward,  hardly  a  man-o'- 
war  complement,  but  enough,  when  driven  and 
directed  by  superior  seamanship,  to  send  the  long 
braces  clicking  through  the  sheaves  of  the  patent 
blocks  with  a  merry  chatter. 

"Hands  about  ship !"  meant  all  hands,  and  the 
cook  at  the  fore  sheet,  a  time  honored  station 
filled  by  the  Celestial  with  all  the  importance 
in  the  world.  It  was  all  the  work  that  Chow  ever 
did  on  deck  and  the  heathenish  glee  with  which 
he  would  "let  go"  at  the  proper  time,  added  a  cer- 

90 


LIFE  IN  THE  FO'C'SLE  91 

tain  zest  to  our  movements,  particularly  as  we 
always  hoped  to  have  a  sea  come  over  and  douse 
him,  which  often  happened. 

At  the  order,  "Ready!  Ready!"  the  gear  of 
the  main  and  cro'jik  was  thrown  down  from  the 
pins,  clear  for  running.  The  command  "Ease 
down  the  helm!"  and  the  order  "Spanker  boom 
amidships!"  would  quickly  follow,  the  vessel  run- 
ning rapidly  into  the  eye  of  the  wind  with  every- 
thing shaking,  and  then  flat  aback. 

"Rise  tacks  and  sheets!"  and  the  hands  at  the 
clew  garnets  would  sway  up  on  the  courses,  lift- 
ing them  clear  of  the  bulwarks.  Then  all  hands 
would  jump  like  monkeys  to  the  main  and  cro'jik 
braces,  at  the  order,  "Weather  main,  lee  cro'jik 
braces!"  the  second  mate,  and  Chips,  standing 
by  to  cast  off  on  the  other  sides.  By  then,  the 
wind  being  a  point  on  the  weather  bow,  would 
come  the  hearty  warning,  "Haul  taut!"  and 
"Now,  boys,  mainsail  haul!"  and  the  after  yards, 
aback,  with  the  wind  on  their  weather  leeches, 
would  spin  about,  the  gear  running  through  the 
blocks  like  snakes  afire,  and  the  men  on  deck 
pawing  it  in  at  the  pins  with  feverish  haste,  be- 
laying as  the  yards  slammed  back  against  the 
lee  swifters  on  the  other  tack. 

By  that  time  the  ship  would  be  practically 


92  UNDER  SAIL 

about,  with  head  yards  and  head  sails  aiding  in 
the  evolution.  As  soon  as  the  wind  was  on  the 
bow,  all  hands  would  spring  to  the  lee  fore  braces. 
"Haul  taut — let  go  and  haul!3'  thundered  the 
order  from  aft.  Chow  would  let  out  a  wild  yell 
as  he  unhitched  the  fore  sheet,  and  around  would 
go  the  head  yards.  Then  with  jib  sheets  shifted 
over,  and  the  spanker  eased  off,  as  the  tacks  were 
boarded,  and  the  sheets  hauled  aft,  we  would 
pause  to  get  our  breath  amid  the  tangle  of  gear 
on  deck. 

"Steady  out  the  bowlines — go  below,  watch  be- 
low!" and  as  the  watch  below  would  leave  the 
deck,  the  order  "Lay  up  the  gear  clear  for  run- 
ning," was  the  signal  for  the  crowd  on  deck  to 
get  busy  while  the  good  ship  raced  away  on  the 
new  tack  with  the  wind  six  points  on  the  bow, 
a  bone  in  her  teeth,  and  a  half  point  of  leeway 
showing  in  the  wake. 

"I  hope  she  holds  this  tack  for  a  month,"  was 
a  wish  often  expressed  after  one  of  these  frantic 
evolutions;  but  such  hopes  were  vain  with  the 
variable  nature  of  the  strong  winds  between  the 
Plate  and  Staten  Land,  that  often  sent  us  about 
a  half  dozen  times  a  day,  insuring  us  plenty  of 
healthful  exercise  and  a  minimum  amount  of 
sleep. 


LIFE  IN  THE  FO'C'SLE  93 

On  a  wind  was  the  Fuller' s  best  point  of  sail- 
ing, so  far  as  handling  was  concerned,  and  she 
was  as  easy  with  the  helm  as  a  catboat. 

"Keep  the  weather  cloth  of  the  mizzen  skys'l 
shaking,"  was  the  order  for  "full  and  by,"  and, 
under  all  plain  sail,  a  spoke  of  the  wheel  would 
hold  her  for  hours,  with  a  quarter  turn  of  weather 
helm. 

While  our  port  watch  crowd  had  at  first 
thought  themselves  the  losers  in  the  choice  of  offi- 
cers, we  soon  realized  that  we  were  being  favored 
in  many  ways,  mainly  because  of  the  superior 
ability  of  the  mate.  He  cursed  unmercifully  and 
made  no  bones  about  cuffing  some  of  the  crew  in 
a  playful  sort  of  fashion,  accompanied  with  some 
ribald  jest  that  was  meant  to  carry  off  the  sting 
of  a  heavy  blow,  yet  he  managed  to  give  us  the 
advantage  in  most  operations  requiring  all  hands. 
He  never  hesitated  to  rouse  out  the  starboard 
watch  an  hour  ahead  of  time  when  a  sudden  short- 
ening of  sail  demanded  all  hands.  On  these  oc- 
casions we  would  work  like  fury  and  get  below 
with  the  loss  of  a  half  hour's  less  sleep  than  the 
other  watch. 

Ill  feeling  among  the  men  of  the  second  mate's 
watch  became  more  and  more  apparent  as  these 
tactics  continued,  and  the  talk  in  the  foVsle  had 


94  UNDER  SAIL 

it  that  the  second  mate  was  afraid  to  stand  up 
for  his  rights.  He  was  accordingly  blamed  for 
every  trouble  forward,  so  far  as  his  own  watch 
was  concerned.  Things  culminated  in  the  wake 
of  a  squall  that  struck  us  soon  after  passing  the 
River  Plate.  The  tops'l  yards  having  been  low- 
ered to  the  caps,  we  were  called  out  near  the  end 
of  the  afternoon  watch  to  man  tops'l  halyards. 

Tony,  of  the  starboard  watch,  was  "before- 
hand" with  Axel  and  the  second  mate,  on  the 
main  tops'l  halyards.  The  rest  of  the  ship's  com- 
pany tailed  along  the  deck  from  the  lead  block 
bending  their  "beef"  on  the  rope  to  the  refrain 
of  "Ranzo,  boys,  Ranzo."  The  deck  was  slippery 
with  the  wet,  and  a  high  sea,  in  which  the  F idler 
wallowed  without  sail  enough  to  steady  her,  made 
footing  precarious. 

At  the  order  "Belay  t"  given  by  the  mate,  and 
the  sharp  "Come  up  behind"  of  the  second  offi- 
cer, Tony  failed  to  hold  on  to  the  rope,  and  the 
consequence  was  a  slight  loss  as  the  man  next 
the  lead  block  hitched  the  halyard  over  the  pin. 

"You  lazy  dago  -  — !  Why  did  you 

let  go  that  rope?"  shouted  Mr.  Stoddard,  at  the 
same  time  making  a  lunge  for  Tony  and  smash- 
ing him  on  the  side  of  the  face  with  his  fist.  The 
Dago  blocked  as  best  he  could,  and  the  second 


LIFE  IN  THE  FO'C'SLE  95 

mate  drove  home  a  second  blow  on  the  Dago's 
nose.  Tony  clinched,  the  blood  spurted  right  and 
left  as  they  went  to  the  deck,  rolling  over  and 
over,  first  one  on  top  and  then  the  other. 

"What's  this?"  shouted  the  mate.  "You  dirty 
bum,  -  -  you !"  he  exploded,  jumping  into 

the  scramble,  while  all  hands  lined  up  in  a  threat- 
ening attitude,  determined  to  see  some  sort  of 
fair  play. 

The  mate  grabbed  Tony  by  the  shirt,  as  he  was 
on  top,  and  yanked  him  over.  The  fact  that  the 
Dago  had  Mr.  Stoddard  down  seemed  to  rile 
the  mate  beyond  all  reason.  He  ripped  off  the 
shirt  of  the  Dago,  and  as  he  threw  him  across  the 
deck  a  knife  flashed  and  the  mate  kicked  it  into 
the  scuppers,  at  the  same  time  digging  his  heavy 
sea  boots  into  the  side  of  the  Italian.  The  second 
mate  staggered  to  his  feet,  a  jagged  streak  of 
blood  on  his  face  where  Tony  had  landed,  and  his 
jacket  covered  with  gore. 

This  scene,  common  enough  perhaps  in  the 
annals  of  the  sea,  made  a  deep  impression  on 
us.  His  watchmates  carried  the  Italian  forward, 
and  Mr.  Stoddard  went  to  his  room  under  the 
starboard  side  of  the  poop.  Bad  as  the  feeling 
had  been  toward  our  officers,  up  to  this  time  it  had 
mingled  with  it  a  certain  element  of  respect.  Ar- 


96  UNDER  SAIL 

tistic  and  fluent  profanity  never  hurt  anybody, 
and  was  almost  always  justified  by  some  bung- 
ling piece  of  work  on  the  part  of  the  lubbers  who 
"gummed  up"  their  action  whenever  the  least 
chance  was  afforded  them.  But  in  the  attack  of 
the  second  mate  on  Tony  there  was  something 
that  looked  like  deliberate  planning,  and  in  the 
mixup  a  number  of  us  saw  the  mate  jerk  the  knife 
from  the  Dago's  belt. 

As  Mr.  Zerk  went  aft  he  picked  up  the  knife 
from  the  scuppers.  "Irons  for  you!"  he  hissed 
at  the  Dago  as  they  took  him  to  the  fo'c'sle. 

But  we  heard  nothing  more  of  it.  The  captain 
had  come  out  on  deck  in  the  height  of  the  excite- 
ment, following  the  fight,  and  called  the  mate 
to  his  side;  he  was  wise  in  his  day,  and  knew  a 
thing  or  two  about  the  tactics  of  his  officers. 

Soon  we  were  tailing  again  to  the  halyard, 
tautening  out  the  leeches  of  the  tops'l,  an  embit- 
tered crowd  who  but  a  few  moments  before  were 
singing  at  the  ropes.  Peter,  in  the  meantime,  was 
swabbing  up  the  bloody  deck. 

One  who  has  never  been  there  can  hardly  real- 
ize the  absolute  subjugation  under  which  a  crew 
may  be  placed  by  their  officers,  especially  if  they 
are  on  a  deep-sea  voyage  under  sail.  None  of 
us  is  perfect,  and  the  humble  sailor  man  as  well 


LIFE  IN  THE  FO'C'SLE  97 

as  the  rest  of  the  human  race  is  prone  to  take 
things  as  easy  as  the  law  of  the  craft  on  which 
he  sails  will  allow.  This  fact,  coupled  with  the 
hard  circumstances  under  which  a  small  crew  is 
compelled  to  work  a  very  large  ship,  may,  in  a 
measure,  condone  the  tactics  which  have  for  their 
object  the  putting  the  "fear  of  God"  into  a  crew. 

Young  officers  at  times  are  inclined  to  be  a  bit 
"easy"  with  men,  thinking  it  will  result  in  more 
willingness.  The  more  seasoned  members  of  the 
cloth,  men  who  have  sailed  as  merchant  officers 
for  many  years,  realize  that  the  maintenance  of 
discipline  aboard  ship  is  only  possible  under  a  rule 
of  autocratic  severity,  demanding  instant  obe- 
dience to  orders  and  quick  punishment  for  the 
first  departure  from  the  iron  bonds.  This  is  as 
necessary  as  life  itself.  The  least  hesitation,  the 
slightest  possibility  of  argument,  when  ordering 
men  to  places  of  danger  or  extreme  difficulty, 
would  soon  result  in  disaster. 

At  sea  we  have  the  sharp  distinction  of  caste — 
the  wonderful  potency  of  Mister  So  and  So.  He 
is  an  officer,  if  not  always  a  gentleman.  To  for- 
get the  "sir"  when  addressing  one  of  our  mates 
would  have  been  a  dangerous  thing  to  do.  In  fact 
only  one  man  ever  did  it,  but  he  was  a  Kanaka 
and  signs  on  later  in  the  story. 


98  UNDER  SAIL 

In  many  ships,  captain  and  mates  never  fail 
to  use  their  "handles"  in  addressing  each  other, 
and  this  was  so  on  the  Fuller,  in  fact  there  was 
as  little  familiarity  aft,  in  the  personal  relations 
of  our  officers,  as  one  might  expect  to  find  be- 
tween the  representatives  of  two  armies  meeting 
to  arrange  a  truce.  And  the  wonderful  part  of  it 
was  that  they  left  the  ship  at  the  end  of  the  voy- 
age as  coldly  distant  as  the  day  they  stepped 
aboard;  that  is  all  but  the  second  mate,  which  is 
again  running  me  ahead  of  the  lawful  progress 
of  this  yarn. 

However,  to  get  back  to  the  deck  and  to  the 
lives  of  our  particular  little  sea  community,  plow- 
ing their  painful  way  over  the  cruel  surface  of  the 
many  wrinkled  ocean,  we  resented  the  under- 
handed flavor  of  the  affair  between  the  mates  and 
Tony.  With  all  the  excuses  for  hazing  granted 
and  allowed  for,  there  is  nothing  to  be  said  in 
favor  of  lying  about  a  fight.  The  imputation  of 
the  knife,  held  as  evidence  by  the  mate,  and  the 
whole  character  of  the  mixup  left  a  bad  taste  in 
our  mouths  for  many  weeks. 

From  that  time  on  we  entered  upon  a  stage  of 
the  voyage  notable  for  its  hardship.  The  officers 
were  drivers  from  the  time  we  dropped  the  Nave- 
sink  Highlands,  but  for  a  long  time  after  the  in- 


LIFE  IN  THE  FO'C'SLE  99 

cident  off  the  River  Plate,  nothing  but  harsh 
words  found  any  place  in  their  vocabulary. 
Weather  conditions  became  more  unsettled  and 
severe  and  one  blow  followed  close  on  the  heels 
of  another.  We  were  in  oilskins  for  weeks  at  a 
time,  soaked  to  the  skin  through  the  worn  out 
"slickers."  Most  of  us  developed  salt  water  boils 
and  one  formed  on  my  left  wrist,  through  the 
constant  chafing,  and  has  left  a  scar  to  this  day, 
as  I  had  the  habit  of  stopping  the  sleeves  of  my 
coat  with  a  few  turns  of  marline  to  keep  the 
water  out.  It  was  impossible  to  dry  things  in  the 
brief  four  hours  below,  and  the  "slop  chest"  was 
soon  depleted  of  its  stock  of  new  oil  clothing.  It 
would  be  hard  to  picture  a  more  depressing  pe- 
riod than  that  through  which  we  passed  just  be- 
fore entering  the  real  weather  off  Cape  Horn. 

In  one  of  our  brief  periods  below  some  of  us 
were  patching  the  tears  in  our  oilskin  coats  and 
pants,  resulting  from  a  tussle  with  the  fore  upper 
tops'l,  the  downhauls  having  carried  away,  and 
left  the  sail  a  bellying  fighting  mess  of  canvas 
that  four  of  us  were  ordered  to  subdue.  Sewing 
oiled  cloth  is  a  poor  job,  and  a  loosened  finger 
nail  on  my  right  thumb,  added  nothing  to  the 
cheerfulness  of  the  sewing  party. 

"I'll  bet  few  lads  would  go  to  sea  if  they  could 


100  UNDER  SAIL 

look  in  here  for  a  half  hour,"  I  remarked,  follow- 
ing a  turn  of  thought  that  revolved  more  or  less 
about  my  own  folly. 

•  "An'  I  don't  think  you  would  stay  in  'ere  or 
out  on  deck  or  anywhere  else  in  this  leaky  old 
bucket  if  you  knowed  what  is  afore  us,"  chipped 
in  Jimmy.  "You  'aven't  never  gone  round  the 
Horn  yet,  so  God  'elp  you,  is  wot  I  says." 

"Yes,  Gott  help  all  of  us,"  said  Scouse  with  a 
heartfelt  grunt  from  the  sea  chest  at  the  forward 
end  of  the  fo Vsle  where  he  and  Joe  were  playing 
checkers  on  a  new  "heavy  weather"  board  just 
made  by  the  resourceful  Joseph.  This  board  was 
covered  with  a  piece  of  canvas,  the  squares  being 
marked  off  with  pencil.  The  checkers  (and  here 
is  where  Joe  prided  himself)  were  made  by  saw- 
ing pieces  from  an  old  broom  handle,  and  Joe  had 
driven  a  sharp  brad  through  each  one  of  them 
so  they  would  cling  to  the  canvas  on  the  checker 
board. 

On  deck  chanties  had  ceased  to  enliven  us,  and 
we  went  through  the  hard  watches  in  a  dogged 
spirit  of  endurance.  We  felt  like  martyrs,  a  state 
of  mind  not  altogether  without  its  compensations. 
In  the  watch  below,  in  a  steaming  atmosphere  of 
gloom,  lighted  by  a  single  oil  lamp  set  into  a  hole 
in  the  partition  bulkhead  between  the  two  sides 


LIFE  IN  THE  FO'C'SLE         101 

of  the  foVsle,  we  slept  as  much  as  possible,  which 
was  not  half  enough,  ate  our  rude  meals,  and  had 
our  dreams  of  happier  days  to  come.  Each  man 
respected  the  rights  of  his  neighbors  and  each 
bunk  was  a  sort  of  damp  narrow  castle.  Here  in 
the  smelly  air,  in  the  dim  light,  cold,  tired,  and 
often  hungry,  we  lived,  or  rather,  existed. 


CHAPTER  VII 

CAPE  HORN 

ON  a  clear  Monday  morning,  the  seventh  of 
February,  1898,  to  be  exact,  the  captain, 
after  working  up  his  A.  M.  sight,  came  on  deck 
and  announced  a  good  observation.  It  was  the 
first  time  the  sun  had  been  visible  in  some  days, 
and  by  working  a  Sumner  he  found  we  were  on 
a  line  cutting  close  past  Cape  St.  John,  on  Staten 
Land,  having  sailed  the  ship  down  between  the 
Falkland  Islands  and  Cape  Virgins  by  dead 
reckoning.  We  were  coiling  down  the  gear  after 
the  morning  washdown,  and  I  was  busy  at  the 
monkey  rail  when  he  came  on  deck  with  his  re- 
sults, and  imparted  the  above  information  to  the 
mate  in  my  hearing. 

"Better  send  a  hand  to  the  main  skysl  yard, 
Mr.  Zerk,"  said  the  captain,  in  conclusion. 

I  was  handy,  and  at  a  nod  from  the  mate 
sprang  up  the  Jacob's  ladder  and  onto  the  rat- 
lines, going  up  like  a  monkey,  out  over  the  fut- 
tock  shrouds,  up  the  topmast  rigging,  narrowing 

102 


CAPE  HORN  103 

to  the  topmast  crosstrees,  in  through  the  horns  of 
the  crosstrees,  and  on  farther  up  the  t'gallant  and 
royal  rigging,  on  the  slight  rope  ladders  abaft 
the  mast.  Coming  to  the  skysail  mast,  hardly 
larger  round  than  the  stick  of  a  fair  catboat,  I 
shinned  up  with  the  help  of  the  halyards,  and 
swung  myself  astride  of  the  yard,  my  arm  about 
the  aerie  pinnacle  of  the  main  truck.  From  my 
vantage  point  the  sea  was  truly  an  inspiring 
sight;  clear  as  crystal,  the  limpid  air  stretched 
free  to  the  distant  horizon  without  a  mist  or 
cloud  to  mar  the  panorama  of  vast  blue  ocean. 
I  felt  as  though  I  had  suddenly  been  elevated  to 
a  heaven  far  above  the  strife  and  trouble  of  the 
decks  below. 

For  the  moment  I  forgot  the  object  of  my 
climb  in  the  contemplation  of  the  sparkling  scene 
stretching  as  far  as  eye  could  reach.  I  glanced 
down  to  the  narrow  deck  far  beneath,  white  in 
the  sun,  the  black  top  of  the  bulwarks  outlining 
the  plan  of  the  ship  against  the  deep  blue  waters ; 
niy  eye  followed  the  easy  curves  of  the  squared 
canvas  on  the  main,  the  great  breadth  of  the 
yards  extending  to  port  and  starboard,  and 
I  wondered  that  so  small  a  ship  could  support 
such  an  avalanche  of  sail  as  bowled  along  under 
my  feet.  Aft,  a  foamy  wake  stretched  for  a  mile 


104  UNDER  SAIL 

or  two,  for  we  were  sailing  at  a  fairish  speed  with 
the  wind  from  the  north,  a  point  on  the  port 
quarter. 

I  saw  the  men  flaking  down  the  fore  tops'l  hal- 
yards, clear  for  running,  on  the  top  of  the  for- 
ward house,  and  I  saw  the  mate  watching  me 
from  the  weather  fore  pinrail,  his  head  thrown 
back  as  he  gazed  aloft ;  something  told  me  to  get 
busy,  and  I  looked  far  ahead  to  the  south. 

A  faint  blue  streak  on  the  horizon  held  my 
eyes.  Accustomed  to  the  sight  of  land  from  out 
at  sea,  through  my  voyages  in  the  schoolship; 
still  I  hesitated  to  name  it  land.  We  were  sixty- 
two  days  out,  and  land  looked  strange.  Again 
I  brought  my  sight  to  bear  upon  the  distant  sky- 
line ahead;  there  was  no  mistaking  the  dim  out- 
line of  land  rising  from  the  sea  at  a  point  imme- 
diately to  the  south  of  us  and  reaching  westward. 

"Land  ho!"  I  hailed  the  deck. 

"Where  away?"  came  the  voice  of  Captain 
Nichols. 

"A  point  on  the  lee  bow,  sir!" 

"All  right !  Lay  down !"  shouted  the  mate,  evi- 
dently not  intending  that  I  should  further  enjoy 
my  lofty  perch  on  the  skysail  yard. 

We  raised  the  land  rapidly,  the  breeze  increas- 
ing slightly  as  the  day  advanced.  At  noon 


CAPE  HORN  105 

Staten  Land  was  visible  from  the  deck,  and  by 
eight  bells  in  the  afternoon  watch  we  were  sailing 
past  the  bold  shores,  some  ten  miles  distant,  and 
drawing  the  land  well  abeam.  Running  south 
for  a  good  offing,  and  taking  in  our  light  sails 
with  the  coming  of  darkness,  we  hauled  our  wind 
to  the  starboard  quarter  at  the  end  of  the  last  dog 
watch  and  headed  bravely  for  old  "Cape  Stiff." 

Captain  Nichols  might  have  ventured  through 
the  Strait  of  Le  Maire,  with  the  weather  we  were 
having,  though  at  the  best  it  is  taking  chances 
to  keep  the  land  too  close  aboard  when  in  the 
troubled  latitudes  of  Terra  Del  Fuego.  Count- 
less ships,  with  the  fine  Duchesse  de  Berry  among 
the  last  of  them,  have  ground  their  ribs  against 
the  pitiless  rocks  that  gird  those  coasts.  How- 
ever, we  were  enjoying  the  rarest  of  Cape  Horn 
weather — sunshine,  fair  wind,  and  a  moderate 
sea. 

For  the  first  time  in  many  weary  days  we 
livened  things  up  with  a  chantey  as  we  swigged 
away  on  the  braces  and  tautened  every  stitch  of 
canvas  with  well  stretched  sheets  and  halyards. 

Jimmy  Marshall  had  just  started  "Whiskey 
for  my  Johnnie,"  and  the  captain  came  forward 
on  the  break  of  the  poop  and  joined  in  the  chorus 
in  a  funny,  squeaky  voice — but  none  of  us  dared 


106  UNDER  SAIL 

laugh  at  him.  He  was  so  delighted  with  the 
progress  we  were  making  and  the  chance  that 
we  might  slip  by  the  "corner"  in  record  time,  that 
nothing  was  too  good  for  us.  The  mate  came 
down  from  his  high  horse  and  with  Mr.  Stoddard 
and  Chips,  who  had  just  finished  their  supper  and 
were  stepping  out  on  deck,  to  join  them,  the  full 
after  guard  took  up  the  refrain — and  the  words 
rose  in  a  great  volume  of  deep  sea  song. 

"Oh,  whiskey — my  Johnnie; 
Yes,  whiskey  made  me  sell  my  coat 
Whiskey,  my  Johnnie. 
Oh,  whiskey's  what  keeps  me  afloat, 
Oh  whiskey  for  my  Johnnie." 

When  we  pumped  her  out  that  night  at  the 
main  pump,  for  the  ship  was  almost  on  an  even 
keel,  we  noted  the  skipper  had  begun  to  stump 
the  quarter  deck  in  a  very  excited  way,  constantly 
ducking  up  and  down  the  companion,  and  scan- 
ning the  horizon  with  an  anxious  eye.  Cape 
pigeons  were  circling  close  to  the  ship  with  an 
endless  chatter,  and  far  above  us  swung  a  huge, 
dun-colored  fulmar  gull,  its  white  belly  clean 
against  the  grey  sky. 

"There  is  something  doing  with  the  glass,"  re- 
marked Frenchy,  eyeing  the  skipper,  "We'll. 


CAPE  HORN  107 

have  some  weather  to  look  out  for  before  long," 
and  all  of  us  watched  the  gull  with  fascinated 
eyes.  Jimmy  and  Brenden  agreed  with  Frenchy 
that  we  were  in  for  heavy  weather. 

But  in  spite  of  these  dire  predictions,  and  in 
spite  of  a  "red  dawn,"  the  day  broke  and  con- 
tinued fair,  and  we  were  again  regaled  with  a 
glimpse  of  land,  jagged  somber  peaks,  jutting 
into  the  sky  to  the  north  like  the  cruel  teeth  of  a 
ragged  saw,  grey  blue  above  the  far  horizon. 

I  was  aft  flaking  down  the  mizzen  tops'l  hal- 
yards on  the  morning  following  the  landfall  when 
Captain  Nichols  stumped  past  me  from  the  break 
of  the  poop  to  the  companion.  He  had  been  up 
all  night,  and  the  continuation  of  fine  weather 
evidently  pleased  and  surprised  him.  He  had  a 
pair  of  binoculars  in  his  hand,  and,  in  passing, 
he  stopped  and  offered  the  glasses  to  me,  point- 
ing to  the  southernmost  promontory,  a  cold  blue 
knob  rising  from  the  sea. 

"That's  Cape  Horn  over  there,  Felix.  Take  a 
good  look  at  it.  You  may  never  see  it  again,  if 
you  were  born  lucky." 

Almost  staggered  by  this  sudden  good  fortune, 
I  brought  the  captain's  glasses  in  focus  on  the 
dreaded  cape,  my  whole  being  thrilled  with  the 
pleasure  of  looking  through  those  excellent  binoc- 


108 


UNDER  SAIL 


CAPE  HORN  109 

ulars  at  that  distant  point  of  rock,  the  outpost  of 
the  New  World,  jutting  far  into  the  southern 
ocean.  I  doubt  if  the  gallant  old  Dutchman, 
Schouten,  who  first  "doubled"  it,  experienced 
half  the  exhilaration  that  I  did  on  first  beholding 
that  storied  headland.  At  four  bells  in  the  morn- 
ing watch  I  went  to  the  wheel,  and  while  the 
watch  swabbed  down  the  decks  after  the  morn- 
ing washdown,  I  was  privileged  to  look  at  the 
Cape  out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye,  between  times, 
keeping  the  "lubber's  line"  of  the  compass  bowl 
on  sou'west  by  sou',  for  the  skipper  had  shaped 
a  course  a  point  or  so  further  off  shore,  as  the 
currents  had  evidently  set  us  in  toward  the  land 
during  the  night  and  he  wished  to  keep  his  safe 
offing. 

The  wind  in  the  meantime  had  veered  round 
to  west-nor'-west,  blowing  directly  off  the  land 
and  with  increasing  force.  The  light  sails  were 
taken  in  again,  and  by  eight  bells  we  were  under 
t'gans'ls,  upper  and  lower  tops'ls,  reefed  fores'l, 
reefed  mains'l,  spanker,  jib  and  topmast  stays'ls. 

As  I  left  the  wheel  and  went  forward,  I  deter- 
mined to  attempt  a  pencil  sketch  of  Cape  Horn, 
the  weather  being  too  dull  for  a  photograph,  even 
if  the  land  were  not  too  distant.  The  result,  after 
some  trials,  and  the  loss  of  my  breakfast,  which 


110  UNDER  SAIL 

was  nothing,  resulted  in  a  fair  representation  of 
what  we  saw  of  the  Cape,  and  I  turned  into  my 
bunk  with  a  feeling  of  satisfaction.  After  all,  it 
was  worth  a  good  deal  to  have  actually  set  eyes 
upon  the  Horn. 

When  we  turned  out  at  one  bell,  for  dinner, 
we  found  the  wind  had  veered  farther  to  the  west, 
we  were  sailing  by  the  wind  with  the  starboard 
tacks  aboard,  the  cold  spray  from  a  rising  sea, 
breaking  over  the  fo'c'sle  head,  and  spattering 
against  the  foVsle  door. 

Jimmy  sat  up  and  rubbed  his  eyes  as  the  watch 
was  called  and  swore  gently  under  his  breath. 
Brenden  went  out  on  deck  to  take  a  look  at  the 
weather.  "Hell,  we  got  it  now.  I  have  seen 
this  before.  D'you  feel  the  ice?"  he  asked. 

Indeed  we  all  felt  the  drop  in  temperature, 
and  the  short  snappy  jerk  of  the  ship,  as  she  met 
the  new  direction  of  the  sea,  was  anything  but 
pleasant. 

Coffee  was  served  out  to  us  that  noon  instead 
of  lime  juice,  and  the  warmth  was  welcome;  it 
helped  wash  down  the  last  cooked  meal  that  Chow 
was  able  to  prepare  for  ten  days. 

Mustering  on  deck  at  eight  bells,  we  found  we 
were  driving  south  under  a  leaden  sky.  Cape 
Horn,  still  dimly  visible,  was  soon  shut  off,  van- 


CAPE  HORN  111 

ishing  in  a  cloud  cap  over  the  land  astern.  We 
were  sailing  due  south,  the  wind  having  headed 
us,  and  at  four  bells,  the  wind  rapidly  increasing 
in  violence,  the  starboard  watch  turned  out  to 
help  in  shortening  down.  We  at  once  took  in 
the  t'gans'ls,  mains'l,  and  jib,  and  these  were 
followed  in  quick  succession  by  other  canvas  until 
at  eight  bells  we  had  the  Fuller  stripped  to  her 
lower  tops'ls,  close  reefed  main  upper  tops'l,  and 
storm  stays'ls.  The  sea  rose  to  mammoth  pro- 
portions, fetching  as  it  did  from  the  very  edge 
of  the  Antarctic  ice  barrier. 

The  canvas  aloft  soon  became  stiff  with  ice  and 
all  gear  on  the  ship  was  coated  with  frozen  rain, 
as  we  were  swept  by  a  succession  of  rain  and  hail 
storms.  At  nightfall  we  were  hove  to,  on  the 
starboard  tack  under  goose  winged  main  lower 
tops'l,  reefed  main  trys'l,  and  storm  stays'l.  The 
oil  tank  forward  was  dripping  its  contents  on  the 
sea,  and  two  oil  bags  were  slung  from  the  fore 
and  main  weather  channels. 

The  storm,  for  the  wind  had  now  increased  to 
fully  sixty  miles  an  hour,  held  steady  from  the 
west  until  midnight.  Then  it  suddenly  went  to 
nor'west,  and  in  the  squalls,  when  the  wind  rose 
to  hurricane  force,  the  Fuller  lay  over  on  her 
beam  ends.  A  vicious  cross  sea  added  its  danger 


112  UNDER  SAIL 

to  the  situation.  All  hands  were  then  on  deck, 
remaining  aft  near  the  mizzen  rigging.  The 
fo'c'sle,  galley,  and  forward  cabin  were  awash. 
Four  men  braced  themselves  at  the  spokes  of  the 
wheel,  under  the  eye  of  the  second  mate,  and  re- 
lieving tackles  were  hooked  to  ease  the  "kick"  of 
the  tiller.  Preventer  braces  and  rolling  tackles, 
got  up  earlier  in  the  day,  were  hove  taut  to  steady 
the  heavy  spars  aloft.  All  loose  gear  was  stream- 
ing to  leeward,  washing  in  the  sea,  through  the 
open  scuppers  and  freeing  ports.  A  fierce  boil- 
ing of  white  phosphorescent  wave  caps  lit  the 
sea  as  it  broke  over  the  ship,  intensifying  the 
black  pandemonium  overhead.  The  sleet-laden 
spume  shot  over  the  prostrate  vessel  in  a  contin- 
uous roar,  drowning  all  attempts  at  shouting  of 
orders. 

It  was  during  the  wild  but  fascinating  hours 
of  this  night  that  I  realized  the  high  quality  of 
seamanship  that  had  prepared  us  for  an  ordeal 
such  as  we  were  going  through.  The  consum- 
mate skill  with  which  the  great  wooden  craft  was 
being  handled  came  home  to  me  with  a  force  that 
could  not  be  denied.  How  easily  a  bungling  lub- 
ber might  have  omitted  some  precaution,  or  car- 
ried sail  improperly,  or  have  done,  or  not  done, 


(CAPE  HORN  113 

the  thousand  things  that  would  have  spelled  dis- 
aster ! 

The  captain  and  mate  stood  at  the  lee  of  the 
mizzen  mast,  each  with  a  turn  of  the  tops'!  sheets 
about  him,  and  hitched  over  the  monkey  rail. 
The  rest  of  us,  crouching  at  the  lee  of  the  cabin 
trunk,  knee  deep  in  the  water  when  she  went 
over  in  the  heavier  squalls,  held  our  places  won- 
dering what  turn  things  would  take  next.  Look- 
ing through  one  of  the  after  cabin  ports,  on  my 
way  to  the  wheel,  I  saw  Chow  and  Komoto,  the 
cabin  boy,  packing  a  box  by  the  light  of  the  small 
lamp  swinging  in  its  gimbals.  They  were  evi- 
dently getting  ready  to  leave — where  to — them- 
selves and  their  gods  alone  knew. 

All  things  have  an  end,  and  the  Stygian  black- 
ness of  the  night  gave  way  to  gray  streaks  of 
dawn  that  broke  upon  us,  revealing  a  scene  of 
utmost  desolation.  A  note  of  order  was  given 
to  the  wild  confusion  of  the  gale-wracked  fabric, 
when  Chips,  his  lanky  figure  skimming  along  the 
life  line,  and  his  sounding  rod  sheltered  under  his 
long  oil  coat,  ventured  to  the  main  fife  rail  to 
sound  the  well.  As  for  the  crew,  we  were  soaked 
with  salt  water  and  frozen  to  the  marrow.  The 
main  lower  tops'l  had  blown  from  the  bolt  ropes 
during  the  night;  we  never  missed  it  until  morn- 


114 


UNDER  SAIL 


ing.  Twenty  feet  of  the  lee  bulwark — the  port 
side — was  gone,  and  a  flapping  rag  of  canvas  at 
the  main  hatch  told  us  that  the  tarpaulin  was 
torn.  Looking  forward  through  the  whistle  of 
wind  and  spume  that  cut  across  the  sharply  tilted 
rigging,  the  scene  was  one  of  terrific  strife,  as 
though  some  demon  ruler  of  the  sea  had  massed 
his  forces,  and  was  making  a  desperate  drive  for 
the  destruction  of  the  wooden  handiwork  of  man 
upon  which  he  dared  to  venture  over  those  for- 
bidden wastes. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BOUNDING  THE  HORN 

NO  matter  how  miserable  one  may  be,  action 
of  some  kind  always  comes  as  a  relief.  Our 
hard  lot  on  the  Fuller  was  positively  made  more 
bearable  by  the  added  hardships  of  the  storm, 
and  when  the  night  was  past  we  were  glad  to 
force  our  chilled  limbs  and  hungry  bellies  to  some 
sort  of  effort.  Anything  was  better  than  to  hang 
to  the  mizzen  rigging  and  slowly  freeze  to  death. 
The  torn  hatch  tarpaulin  was  a  serious  matter. 
The  merchant  service  holds  no  higher  duty,  where 
passengers  are  not  carried,  than  the  duty  toward 
cargo.  This  is  often  forgotten  by  men  who  lack 
the  true  traditions  of  the  sea.  But  our  officers 
were  well  alive  to  the  importance,  not  only  of 
bringing  our  ship  around  the  Horn,  but  of  bring- 
ing her  cargo  through  in  good  condition. 

The  mate,  followed  by  Axel,  Brenden, 
Frenchy,  and  Mike,  a  husky,  well-set-up  sailor 
of  the  starboard  watch,  went  into  the  waist  and 
worked  their  way  along  the  deck  at  great  peril. 

115 


116  UNDER  SAIL 

After  much  trouble  they  managed  to  wedge  down 
the  flapping  canvas,  which  was  under  a  constant 
deluge  of  blue  water,  whole  seas  coming  aboard 
in  quick  succession. 

By  noon  the  weather  abated  somewhat,  and 
we  got  the  ship  under  fore  and  mizzen  lower 
tops'ls,  and  close  reefed  main  upper  tops'l.  Be- 
fore nightfall  we  had  sent  down  what  remained 
of  the  main  lower  tops'l,  and  bent  a  new  sail. 
That  afternoon  we  experienced  an  adventure 
fraught  with  much  excitement  to  us  of  the  port 
watch.  The  jib  having  worked  loose  from  the 
gaskets,  by  constant  dipping  into  the  sea,  as  the 
ragged  crests  of  blue  water  buried  the  bowsprit 
and  jibboom,  six  of  us  were  ordered  out  to  secure 
the  sail  by  passing  a  three-inch  manila  line 
around  the  sail  and  boom. 

Brenden,  Scouse,  Frenchy  and  I  were  on  the 
weather  side,  and  Joe  and  Martin  went  out  on 
the  boom  to  leeward.  The  job  was  almost  fin- 
ished, two  seas  had  already  drenched  us,  and  we 
were  chilled  with  the  dip  in  the  cold  water,  when 
the  ship  rose  to  a  heavy  roller,  her  bow  lifted  high 
into  the  eye  of  the  wind,  and  then  plunged  down 
into  the  deep  trough  between  two  seas.  The  mo- 
mentum was  so  great  that  she  failed  to  rise 
quickly  enough,  and  her  jibboom  stabbed  right 


ROUNDING  THE  HORN         117 

into  the  heart  of  the  onrushing  wall  of  cold  blue 
water,  regardless  of  the  half  dozen  luckless 
wretches  clinging  to  the  furled  canvas  with  all 
their  might.  The  great  sea  went  on  over  us, 
thundering  down  on  the  fo'c'sle  head,  and  rush- 
ing aft  along  the  deck  in  a  noisy  white  cataract  of 
foam.  When  she  shook  free  we  were  left  cling- 
ing to  the  jibboom  like  drowned  rats,  that  is,  all 
of  us  but  Joe. 

Aft  on  the  poop,  the  mate  heard  our  cries,  and, 
springing  to  the  lee  rail,  he  yanked  a  bight  of 
line  from  a  pin  and  hove  it  overboard,  catching 
Joe  just  in  time  as  he  rose  close  along  side. 
When  she  heeled  to  leeward,  ready  hands  hauled 
the  half-drowned  Joe  on  board.  Captain  Nichols 
had  come  up  on  the  first  cry,  and  taking  Joe  into 
the  cabin,  he  poured  out  a  liberal  hooker  of  whis- 
key from  the  medicine  chest.  The  funny  part  of 
the  whole  thing  was  that  Joe  was  more  thankful 
for  the  drink  than  for  his  escape  from  certain 
death,  for  we  never  could  have  lowered  a  boat  in 
that  sea. 

We  got  a  watch  below  that  night,  and  the  cook 
managed  to  heat  some  coffee,  but  cold  salt  beef 
and  hard  tack  were  all  that  the  kids  contained 
when  we  went  below  for  supper.  Wrapped  in 
our  damp  clothes  we  managed  to  peg  in  a  few 


118  UNDER  SAIL 

hours  of  necessary  sleep.  Life,  for  a  week  after- 
ward, was  not  worth  living,  unless  one  held  some 
latent  strain  of  the  old  berserker  flowing  through 
his  veins.  It  was  a  fight,  and  the  elements 
charged  us  and  flanked  us  in  midnight  fury,  in- 
creasingly cold  as  we  edged  farther  to  the  south 
in  our  attempt  to  round  the  meridian  of  Cape 
Horn. 

In  latitude  56°  29'  S.  and  longitude  68°  42'  W. 
from  Greenwich,  about  sixty  sea  miles  S.  W.  by 
W.  from  Cape  Horn,  lies  the  island  of  Diego 
Ramirez,  a  weather-worn  rock  jutting  from  the 
black  waters  of  the  sub-antarctic.  Ten  days 
after  fetching  away  from  the  Cape,  we  beat  south 
and  sighted  this  grim  sentinel,  the  outpost  of  the 
tempest  and  the  gale — ten  days  of  such  seagoing 
as  seldom  falls  to  the  men  who  nowadays  go  down 
to  the  sea  in  steamers. 

Under  conditions  of  the  kind  we  experienced, 
every  man  was  put  to  the  test,  and  his  worth  as 
a  member  of  the  crew  clearly  established.  For- 
tunately for  us,  and  for  the  races  representative 
in  our  small  company — of  which  we  boasted 
quite  a  few — no  strain  of  yellow  fear  developed 
during  the  days  and  nights  when  the  work  aloft 
called  for  the  performance  of  duty  dangerous  in 
the  extreme.  Not  one  of  us  but  had  been  ship- 


ROUNDING  THE  HORN         119 

mates  with  men  lost  overboard,  or  maimed  for 
life  in  accidents  to  sail  or  spars.  Never  was  there 
a  moment's  hesitation  to  lay  aloft,  or  out  on  a 
swaying  bucking  yard  in  the  black  cover  of  night, 
to  grapple  with  canvas  hard  and  unruly.  No 
work  was  too  trying,  and  no  hours  of  labor  too 
long.  We  thought  nothing  of  the  eternal  injus- 
tice of  a  fate  that  sent  us  out  to  sea  to  fight  for 
our  very  lives  on  a  ship  far  too  big  for  so  small 
a  crew  to  handle  safely,  if  indeed  any  crew  of 
mere  men  could  ever  safely  handle  so  large  a 
ship. 

Never  was  there  a  suspicion  of  holding  back, 
and  through  it  all,  the  discipline  of  the  dis- 
gruntled warmer  latitudes  was  dropped  and 
orders  were  quickly  obeyed  as  a  matter  of  course ; 
yes,  as  a  matter  of  self-preservation.  The  dis- 
gusting profanity  of  warmer  climes  was  laid  in 
the  discard  for  a  while,  and  we  were  men  doing 
men's  work. 

Wet  and  hunger  were  the  rule;  to  be  chilled 
with  the  cold  was  normal,  and  our  salvation  was 
the  constant  struggle  with  the  working  of  the 
ship.  Accidents  occurred,  and  old  Jimmy  lay  in 
his  bunk  with  his  right  arm  in  a  bandage  from  a 
dislocation  due  to  a  fall  on  the  slippery  deck. 
This  was  roughly  set  by  the  captain  with  the 


120  UNDER  SAIL 

help  of  the  mate  and  the  carpenter.  The  galley 
fire  had  hardly  been  lighted  an  hour  at  a  time  as 
the  seas  flooded  everything  forward.  Cold  salt 
junk — from  the  harness  casks  to  the  kids — com- 
prised the  mainstay  of  our  ration,  not  to  mention 
the  daily  whack  of  mouldy,  weevily  hard  tack. 
Had  it  not  been  for  an  occasional  steaming  hot 
can  of  slops  called  tea  and  coffee,  we  should  have 
surely  perished. 

Our  oilskins  were  in  shreds,  boots  leaked,  and 
every  stitch  of  clothing  in  the  ship  was  damp, 
except  when  dried  by  the  heat  of  our  bodies. 
Had  I  been  told  of  this  before  starting  out — well, 
I  suppose  I  would  not  have  believed  it — and, 
when  I  say  that  during  it  all  we  had  a  fairly  good 
time  and  managed  to  crack  jokes  and  act  like  a 
lot  of  irresponsible  asses,  it  goes  to  prove  that 
man  was  born  to  be  kicked;  be  he  on  a  sailing 
ship  around  the  Horn,  on  the  hard  edge  of  the 
Arctic  littoral,  or  in  the  bloody  trenches;  fate 
is  always  there  to  step  in  and  deliver  the  neces- 
sary bumping. 

When  south  of  Diego  Ramirez,  we  passed  the 
American  ship  Shenandoah,  Captain  "Shotgun" 
Murphy,  bound  from  'Frisco  to  Liverpool,  with 
a  cargo  of  grain.  She  was  racing  two  English 
four-masted  barks,  and  we  were  told  that  she 


ROUNDING  THE  HORN         121 

dropped  her  hook  in  the  Mersey  a  month  ahead 
of  them. 

When  sighting  the  Shenandoah  we  were  close 
to  the  wind  on  the  starboard  tack,  standing 
about  due  west;  the  Shenandoah  was  running 
free,  with  the  wind  two  points  abaft  her  port 
beam,  carrying  everything  to  t'gans'ls,  stays'ls, 
and  jigger,  a  truly  magnificent  sight  and  the  first 
sail  we  had  seen  close  aboard  since  leaving  the 
Tarn  O'Shanter  off  Sandy  Hook. 

When  abeam  we  exchanged  the  courtesies  of 
the  sea,  dipping  our  ensign  from  the  monkey  gaff, 
and  running  aloft  our  "number,"  the  gay  string 
of  lively  colored  flags,  pennant,  and  burgee— 
J.  V.  G.  B.  of  the  International  Code — the  uni- 
versal language  of  the  sea. 

The  Shenandoah  also  ran  up  her  number,  a 
spot  of  color  in  the  beautiful  spread  of  white 
cotton  canvas  on  her  yards.  The  sky  was  dull, 
but  the  clear  air  set  her  off  with  cameo  like  dis- 
tinctness against  the  grey  background  of  the 
horizon.  The  deep  blue  of  the  sea  smothered 
white  under  her  bow  and,  as  she  rolled  gracefully, 
the  yellow  gleam  of  her  copper  flashed  along 
under  her  sleek  black  side,  or  else  we  caught  a 
glimpse  of  her  white  decks  over  the  line  of  her 
bulwarks,  as  she  dipped  to  leeward. 


122  UNDER  SAIL 

We  had  sighted  the  sail  ahead,  and,  having  our 
starboard  tacks  aboard,  were  accorded  the  right 
of  way.  Hitchen,  of  the  other  watch,  gathered 
with  a  group  of  us  on  the  fo'c'sle  head  to  watch 
the  stranger  drive  past  us.  Being  somewhat  of 
a  scholar,  the  little  Englishman  delivered  himself 
of  the  following  verse: 

"If  close  hauled  on  the  starboard  tack, 
No  other  ship  can  cross  your  track; 
If  on  the  port  tack  you  appear, 
Ships  going  free  must  all  keep  clear; 
While  you  must  yield  when  going  free, 
To  sail  close  hauled  or  on  your  lee. 
And,  if  you  have  the  wind  right  aft, 
Keep  clear  of  every  sailing  craft." 

In  obedience  to  this  Law  of  the  Sea,  the  four- 
masted  ship  Shenandoah  starboarded  a  point, 
passing  the  Fuller  well  to  windward,  and  some 
five  miles  south  of  the  Island  of  Diego  Ramirez. 


CHAPTER  IX 

INTO  THE  PACIFIC 

AFTER  close  to  two  and  a  half  months  at 
sea  we  had  reached  the  turning  point  on  the 
long  course  to  Honolulu.  The  Atlantic  with  its 
trials  lay  behind  us,  and  just  in  our  wake  the 
sullen  waters  of  the  Horn  lashed  themselves 
against  the  coast  of  Terra  Del  Fuego.  Ahead 
stretched  the  broad  Pacific,  greatest  of  oceans, 
and  fraught  with  every  angle  of  adventure  that 
comes  to  the  men  who  sail.  Indeed  the  sailing  of 
a  great  ship  like  the  Fuller  is  the  rarest  kind  of 
sport  from  the  standpoint  of  seamanship,  where 
every  stitch  of  canvas  is  made  to  draw  to  its  full 
capacity  in  every  wind  that  blows.  From  the 
cold  latitudes  of  the  Cape  up  to  abreast  of  Val- 
paraiso, we  had  good  lively  sailing.  Great  rol- 
lers followed  us,  for  the  winds  were  mostly  fair, 
and,  as  the  seas  overtook  us  and  expended  them- 
selves to  the  north,  we  drove  onward,  cutting 
down  the  latitude  in  record  time ;  the  cape  pigeons 

123 


UNDER  SAIL 

were  left  behind,  but  several  albatross  formed 
a  convoy  almost  to  the  edge  of  Capricorn. 

During  these  weeks  of  strenuous  weather  a 
favored  few  of  us  were  told  off  to  lay  up  sennet 
for  use  in  making  chafing  mats,  and  as  "service" 
on  the  backstays,  where  subject  to  the  wear  of 
gear.  We  would  perch  ourselves  on  the  coils  of 
rope  stowed  on  the  fore  hatch  tarpaulin  under 
the  fo'c'sle  head,  where  we  were  sheltered  from 
the  weather  and  at  the  same  time  within  easy  call 
from  aft. 

Frenchy  was  the  leading  sailor  in  these  arts 
and  taught  us  to  lay  up  round,  flat,  and  French 
sennet.  The  less  skilled  men  busied  themselves 
in  making  nettles  and  foxes,  using  the  primitive 
"spinning  jinney,"  and  rubbing  down  the  small 
stuff  with  canvas  to  "smooth"  it  before  balling. 
Here,  too,  we  were  initiated  into  the  fine  points 
of  marling  spike  work,  Frenchy,  Brenden,  and 
Jimmy  Marshall  showing  the  less  knowing  ones 
how  to  turn  in  many  a  splice  and  knot.  Turk's 
heads  of  three,  five,  and  seven  strands  were  made, 
and  the  more  difficult  series  of  four,  six  and  eight 
strands  were  mastered  by  some  of  us.  Jimmy 
worked  a  wonderful  set  of  manropes  for  the  after 
companion,  crosspointing  them  in  red,  white  and 
blue,  and  topping  them  with  rose  knots. 


INTO  THE  PACIFIC  125 

I  was  delighted  to  pick  up  a  vast  amount  of 
interesting  and  useful  knowledge  about  the  dif- 
ferent knots  and  hitches  used  at  sea.  How  many 
sailors  today  can  properly  cast  a  carrick  bend, 
turn  in  a  mariner's  splice,  or  a  Flemish  eye,  or 
work  a  cringle  into  a  Bolt  rope?  Hitchen,  of  the 
starboard  watch,  taught  us  how  to  make  the  Eng- 
lish bag  knot,  an  intricate  and  beautiful  forma- 
tion cast  in  the  bight  of  a  line. 

Our  work  under  the  fo'c'sle  head  got  all  hands 
started,  and  during  many  a  dismal  wet  dog  watch 
we  practiced  the  forming  of  every  knot  from  the 
bowline  down,  Peter,  the  boy,  and  myself  trying 
to  outdo  each  other  in  the  variety  of  our  achieve- 
ments. Frenchy  taught  us  a  new  way  to  form 
that  "king  of  knots,"  the  bowline,  in  which  the 
loop  is  passed  through  the  gooseneck  twice,  form- 
ing a  double  loop,  a  most  useful  knot  employed 
in  the  French  Navy.  When  a  man  is  to  be  low- 
ered over  side,  he  sits  in  one  of  the  loops  and  the 
other  is  passed  under  his  arm  pits,  the  gooseneck 
coming  against  his  chest.  His  weight  tautens 
the  part  under  the  arms,  and  it  is  impossible  for 
a  man  to  drop  out  of  this  bowline,  even  though 
he  becomes  unconscious. 

In  this  manner  much  of  the  unrecorded  lore  of 
the  sea  was  passed  on  to  us  in  the  Fuller  as  the 


126  UNDER  SAIL 

same  things  have  been  handed  down  through  the 
ages  since  the  Phoenicians,  the  Norsemen,  and 
the  more  ancient  sailors  of  Cathay  first  rigged 
their  barks,  fashioning  their  bends  and  hitches  in 
the  same  manner  as  the  sailors  of  today.  Where 
the  marvelous  knots  originated,  no  one  can  tell. 
Who  invented  them,  no  one  knows;  but  we  do 
know  that  the  rope  craft  of  the  sea  is  standard 
and  defies  improvement.  It  takes  time  to  learn 
the  knots,  bends,  hitches,  and  splices;  how  much 
longer  it  must  have  taken  to  discover  them  can 
only  be  imagined. 

In  time,  much  of  this  will  be  entirely  super- 
seded by  wire  and  steel,  as  indeed  all  lower  stand- 
ing rigging  is  already  of  wire.  But  turnbuckles 
and  riveted  plates  are  part  of  the  metal  ships, 
unyielding  and  stiff,  that  buckle  the  hollow  steel 
masts,  or  sheer  the  channel  plates  clean  from  the 
hull,  when  wrenched  by  the  resistless  power  of 
the  sea. 

In  the  days  of  wood,  of  tough  live  oak,  and 
tarred  hemp  lanyards,  with  their  "give"  and 
"spring,"  the  old  style  rigging  knots  and  splices 
endured  for  thousands  of  years.  Can  steel  and 
steam  resist  the  hands  of  time  as  well? 

On  the  Fuller  we  were  taught  that  everything 
had  to  be  done  just  so  to  be  "shipshape  and  Bris- 


INTO  THE  PACIFIC  127 

tol  fashion,"  as  the  old  sea  phrase  has  it.    It  was 
always : 

Worm  and  parcel  with  the  lay, 
Then  turn  and  serve  the  other  way. 

And  the  humblest  tools  have  had  their  form 
decreed  since  the  art  of  seamanship  began.  The 
serving  board  and  the  serving  mallet  used  by 
Noah;  the  fid,  the  marling  spike,  the  sewing 
palm,  and  the  caulking  iron,  are  the  ultimate 
tools  of  the  most  ancient  handicraft;  the  art  of 
building  and  rigging  ships.  We  used  all  of  these 
implements  with  industry  as  the  blustery  weather 
sent  us  up  from  the  Horn  to  Honolulu.  We  saw 
how  able  sailors  fit  a  cringle  to  the  tough  four- 
stranded  hempen  bolt  ropes  on  the  storm  can- 
vas ;  we  learned  the  proper  way  to  strop  a  block, 
with  the  splice  where  it  belongs,  as  every  sailor 
knows,  and  the  throat  seizing  f rapped  and 
hitched  in  sailor  fashion. 

The  hours  spent  under  the  foVsle  head  during 
those  days  of  the  voyage  were  not  so  tedious. 
The  Horn  was  behind  us  and  the  prospect  of  fine 
weather  ahead.  Yarning  was  always  going  on, 
and  often  we  spent  the  dog  watches  in  making 
fancy  plaitings  and  knottings  for  sea  chest  covers 
and  the  like.  I  realized  that  such  men  as  Mar- 
shall, Old  Smith,  Kitchen,  Axel,  Brenden,  and 


128  UNDER  SAIL 

Frenchy  were  of  a  dwindling  breed,  soon  to  be 
as  rare  as  the  makers  of  stone  axes,  or  the  sea- 
men of  the  Roman  galleys. 

One  other  sailor  of  the  ship's  company  asked 
odds  of  no  one  in  the  range  of  his  knowledge  of 
the  sea.  Whatever  else  we  may  have  thought  of 
him,  we  were  forced  to  acknowledge  Mr.  Zerk  a 
seaman  of  the  most  accomplished  sort.  Versed  in 
the  art  of  wire  splicing  and  up  to  every  dodge  in 
sailmaking  and  rigging,  he  combined  the  ability 
of  the  marling  spike  man  with  the  gift  of  the 
larger  seamanship  involved  in  the  handling  of  a 
vessel  under  all  conditions.  If  his  eye  ever  lights 
on  this,  and  I  hope  it  will,  I  herewith  accord  to 
him  the  full  measure  of  my  admiration,  for  the 
combination  of  these  two  types  of  sailor  is  rare; 
as  rare  as  the  few  remaining  ships  of  the  school 
that  brought  him  forth. 

The  Fuller  was  a  wooden  vessel,  Bath  built, 
and  coppered,  not  with  the  beautiful  "red  copper" 
we  read  about  in  Clark  Russell,  but  with  a  com- 
position resembling  brass,  tough,  yellow,  and 
antifouling;  a  less  expensive  sheathing  than  the 
pure  copper,  and,  to  my  mind,  every  bit  as  good  a 
color,  the  bright  yellow,  between  the  deep  blue 
sea  and  the  black  hull,  striking  a  pleasing  line 


INTO  THE  PACIFIC  129 

that  glints  like  gold  when  the  sun  just  hits  it  at 
the  proper  angle. 

Our  ship  was  a  full-bodied  model,  really  a 
medium  clipper,  surprisingly  sharp,  and  with  a 
clean  run  aft  that  gave  her  a  handy  pair  of  heels 
in  any  kind  of  a  favorable  wind.  Like  most 
ships  "of  a  certain  age,"  the  old  girl  was  troubled 
with  her  timbers  and  joints.  These  had  an  un- 
comfortable way  of  sliding  over  each  other  and 
complaining  in  a  truly  agonizing  manner. 

"She  has  lots  of  'give'  to  her,"  one  of  the  men 
remarked  on  our  running  into  the  first  sea  after 
leaving  port. 

The  working  of  the  vessel's  timbers  kept  her 
bilge  "sweet"  by  admitting  a  liberal  quantity  of 
nice  cool  sea  water  seeping  in  all  the  way  from 
the  garboard  strake  to  the  channels,  a  circum- 
stance that  necessitated  constant  pumping,  back 
breaking  labor  that  in  heavy  weather  continued 
during  the  whole  of  the  twenty-four  hours,  with 
two  hands  bending  over  the  lee  bilge  pump.  The 
wheel,  the  lookout  at  night,  and  the  bilge  pump, 
were  taken  in  rotation  by  all  hands.  For  back 
breaking,  soul  destroying  labor,  nominate  the 
bilge  pump.  I  had  a  standing  offer  in  the  fo'c'sle 
to  stand  two  wheels  for  one  bilge  pump,  Scouse 
and  Fred  and  Martin  being  my  best  customers 


130  UNDER  SAIL 

until  I  was  dated  up  so  far  in  advance  on  the 
steering  that  I  had  to  take  this  on  as  well  as  the 
pumping,  which  came  along  oftener  as  it  called 
for  two  men. 

In  the  matter  of  small  trading  we  did  a  thriv- 
ing business  in  the  fo'c'sle,  some  of  us  even 
branching  out  into  foreign  trade  with  the  star- 
board watch.  I  was  the  one  to  introduce  this 
practice  on  board  the  Fuller,  a  relic  of  my  school 
ship  days,  when  pools  were  formed  in  the  differ- 
ent messes  and  five  and  ten  rations  of  cold  corned 
beef  traded  off  for  potatoes,  or  potatoes  and  but- 
ter paid  out  as  rental  for  the  use  of  the  precious 
frying  pans  of  which  there  were  a  few  on  board. 
When  I  worked  out  a  system  of  credits  for  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  grub  on  the  Fuller  it  was  found 
to  be  a  source  of  diversion  and  made  possible 
some  adjustment  along  the  lines  of  personal 
taste,  in  the  matter  of  our  meals.  We  had  stock 
fish  every  once  in  a  while,  no  doubt  as  a  conces- 
sion to  the  Scandinavian  contingent,  to  be  found 
in  every  ship  that  sails  the  seas.  I  invariably 
passed  off  my  share  of  this  delicacy  to  Fred  or 
Martin  and  would  be  credited  with  their  rations 
of  apple  jack,  a  stew  of  musty  dried  apples;  or 
I  would  contract  for  half  of  their  whack  of  lime 
juice  and  vinegar. 


INTO  THE  PACIFIC  131 

Mr.  Zerk,  with  whom  I  always  was  a  favorite, 
that  is  until  we  got  to  Honolulu,  occasionally 
gave  me  a  jar  of  preserves,  of  which  he  had  a 
large  store.  These  were  home-made  pickles  and 
jams,  and  when  brought  into  the  fo'c'sle  caused 
quite  a  commotion. 

"Rats  with  'im  and  'is  rotten  marmerlade,"  de- 
clared Jimmy  in  great  dudgeon  when  I  brought 
forward  the  first  fruits  of  my  "stand  in." 

"Eat  it  yerself  but  don't  ast  no  self-respectin' 
man  to  touch  it,"  was  the  sarcastic  way  in  which 
the  haughty  Marshall  voiced  his  sentiments. 
"Wot  do  you  say?"  he  demanded,  glaring  about 
the  fo'c'sle  to  see  if  anyone  dared  dispute  him. 

"Righto,"  piped  up  Joe.  "That  rotten  skunk 
aft  has  poisoned  the  stuff,  I'll  bet." 

"No,  it's  good,"  I  declared,  dipping  in  with  the 
tip  of  my  sheath  knife.  It  was  a  jar  of  very  red 
cherry  jam.  It  also  had  a  very  pleasant  aroma 
as  well  as  a  pleasing  taste.  I  purposely  took  a 
second  very  large  helping  and  could  see  that  the 
temptation  to  fall  was  great. 

"Here,  Frenchy,  don't  eat  any,  now.  Just 
taste  it,  perhaps  it  does  taste  a  little  funny." 

Frenchy  tasted.  "I  don't  know.  It  does  taste 
funny,"  he  said. 


132  UNDER  SAIL 

"Here,  gimme  a  piece  o'  tack,"  and  Joe  was 
sampling  the  jam  very  liberally. 

In  a  moment  all  hands,  including  Jimmy,  were 
tasting  it,  and  all  declared  it  tasted  funny.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  it  did  taste  very  funny  if  we  ac- 
cepted apple  jack  as  a  standard. 

As  the  last  smear  of  jam  was  cleaned  from  the 
jar  the  hypercritical  Jimmy  had  the  nerve  to  re- 
mark, "That  was  the  rottenest  marmerlade  I  ever 
tasted." 

However,  after  that  no  questions  were  raised 
when  I  brought  a  donation  forward,  though  to 
tell  the  truth  these  treats  were  scarce,  as  the 
mate's  private  stock  ran  out  long  before  we  got 
to  Honolulu. 


CHAPTER  X 

CABIN   AND   FO'c'SLE 

CAPTAIN  NICHOLS  was  a  good  deal  of 
V*^  a  mystery  to  us  forward.  He  seldom  came 
on  deck  except  for  a  few  moments  of  a  fine  morn- 
ing, when  he  would  bob  up,  "take  a  sight"  and 
stump  deliberately  down  the  companion  to  the 
chronometer,  counting  the  seconds  out  loud  on 
his  way.  At  noon  he  "took  the  sun"  alone  in 
solitary  scientific  grandeur;  only  once  do  I  re- 
member seeing  the  mate  take  an  observation. 
One  noon,  I  was  at  the  wheel  at  the  time,  our 
first  officer  came  aft  shortly  before  eight  bells, 
carrying  an  ancient  "hog  yoke."  His  sleeves 
were  rolled  up,  and  a  greasy  shine  on  the  arc  of 
his  instrument  told  of  efforts  at  polishing.  Some- 
how he  could  not  get  the  sun  to  behave,  for  the 
curious  relic  seemed  sadly  in  need  of  adjustment. 
He  retired  in  disgust  when  the  captain  "made 
eight  bells,"  and  stumped  forward  without  an- 
swering, when  the  skipper  arked  him  what  he  had 
for  altitude. 

133 


134  UNDER  SAIL 

Tipping  me  the  shadow  of  a  wink,  the  captain 
went  below  to  work  up  the  position. 

The  captain  on  the  other  hand  was  quite  reg- 
ular in  his  methods  of  navigation.  He  watched 
the  course  closely,  having  a  particularly  fine  tell- 
tale compass  swung  beneath  the  skylight  in  his 
private  cabin,  as  every  one  of  us  had  evidence  by 
the  uncanny  way  in  which  he  would  pop  up  out 
of  the  companion  at  the  most  unheard  of  hours 
of  the  night  and  walk  quickly  to  the  binnacle, 
and  seldom  except  when  the  helmsman  was  off 
his  course. 

I  met  the  captain  a  number  of  years  afterward 
in  Philadelphia.  He  was  then  in  command  of  a 
fine  steamer  and  I  was  second  mate  of  another 
vessel  of  the  same  line.  In  the  course  of  a  pleas- 
ant visit  talking  over  old  times  on  the  Fuller,  I 
asked  him  how  he  managed  to  keep  such  close 
watch  on  the  navigation  of  his  ship  without  any 
particular  assistance  from  his  officers. 

"By  staying  awake  nights,  sir,"  was  his  laconic 
reply. 

At  any  rate,  whatever  his  method,  Captain 
Nichols  knew  pretty  well  where  we  were  at  all 
times. 

On  the  old  ships,  and  the  Fuller  was  a  very 
good  example  of  her  class,  the  master  was  housed 


CABIN  AND  FO'C'SLE  135 

in  truly  palatial  style.  On  our  ship  the  captain's 
quarters  were  spacious,  taking  up  two-thirds  of 
the  cabin  and  running  the  whole  width  of  the 
vessel,  and  fore  and  aft  from  the  mizzen  mast  to 
the  lazarette.  The  captain's  stateroom  was  most 
commodious;  he  enjoyed  the  comfort  of  slumber 
in  a  large  mahogany  bunk  built  after  the  lines  of 
a  Dutch  galiot,  as  broad  as  it  was  long.  This 
room  took  up  the  space  of  three  ordinary  state- 
rooms on  the  starboard  quarter.  At  the  foot  of 
the  companion  was  a  cozy  after  cabin  luxuriously 
paneled  in  mahogany  between  fluted  columns 
of  the  same  wood  picked  out  with  gold  leaf  at 
base  and  capital.  Other  rare  woods  of  a  lighter 
shade  were  inlaid  on  the  center  panels,  and  the 
whole  furnishing  of  cushioned  lockers,  round 
table,  and  skylight,  with  its  tell-tale  compass, 
book  and  chart  cases,  gave  it  the  air  of  a  costly 
yacht  cabin. 

His  bathroom,  connected  with  a  large  salt- 
water tank,  filled  each  morning  by  the  deck  wash- 
ers, was  on  the  port  side,  and  two  spare  state- 
rooms opened  into  the  after  cabin  from  port.  A 
bulkhead  divided  these  private  quarters  from  the 
forward  or  mess  cabin,  off  which  were  the  pantry, 
storeroom,  steward's  room  and  slop  chest.  The 
mates  were  berthed  in  two  staterooms  on  either 


136  UNDER  SAIL 

side  of  the  after  cabin,  but  their  doors  opened 
into  a  sort  of  thwart  ship  vestibule  running  the 
width  of  the  after  cabin  just  below  the  break  of 
the  poop.  The  mizzen  mast  came  down  through 
the  after  end  of  the  mess  cabin,  and  a  large  brass 
lamp  swung  in  gimbals  just  below  the  long  sky- 
light. 

A  repeating  rifle  in  a  rack  above  the  captain's 
bunk,  and  two  revolvers  on  each  side  of  the  chart 
table,  composed  the  offensive  battery.  A  long 
brass  telescope  reposed  in  a  rack  in  the  com- 
panion, and  at  the  foot  of  this  was  slung  a  very 
good  mercurial  barometer.  Typical  of  the  best 
traditions  of  the  sea,  such  were  the  quarters  of  the 
after  guard. 

Forward  we  were  not  done  so  well.  The 
fo'c'sle  took  up  the  forward  part  of  the  deck 
house  and  was  sheltered  from  the  force  of  the 
sea  and  wind  by  the  high  break  of  the  fo'c'sle 
head.  These  quarters  were  divided  by  a  bulk- 
head running  fore  and  aft,  to  separate  the 
watches,  and  plain  unpainted  bunks  lined  the 
sides.  Light  was  afforded  by  a  poor  lamp  set  in 
a  hole  in  the  wall  between  the  two  sides,  a  cheap 
expedient  thought  of,  no  doubt,  by  some  thrifty 
soul  who  knew  that  this  was  far  better  than  the 
traditional  whale  oil,  or  slush  dip,  of  the  hoary 


CABIN  AND  FO'C'SLE  137 

days  when  sailor  men  were  shoved  below  decks 
in  reeking  quarters  just  over  the  fore  peak. 

However,  the  foVsle  was  home  to  us.  We 
lived  there  and  had  our  being  amid  an  atmos- 
phere not  altogether  bad ;  what  we  lacked  in  con- 
veniences we  made  up  for  in  ingenuity.  Above  a 
few  of  the  bunks  were  rough  calendars  marked 
on  the  woodwork,  some  of  them  from  previous 
voyages.  Brenden  kept  track  of  our  position  by 
notching  each  day  on  the  scantling  overhead. 
Under  these  marks  he  had  signs  that  stood  for 
the  N.  E.  trades,  the  Line,  the  S.  E.  trades, 
etc.  All  sorts  of  little  shelves  were  rigged  up  to 
hold  tobacco,  matches,  ditty  bags,  well  thumbed 
books,  old  newspapers,  and  what  not.  Lines  of 
marlin  were  stretched  above  the  bunks  for  drying 
clothes. 

The  scheme  of  society  within  the  sacred  walls 
of  our  castle  was  a  sort  of  despotic  democracy. 
The  ruling  class,  the  able  seamen  of  the  watch, 
Marshall,  Frenchy,  Brenden,  were  the  arbiters 
of  all  matters  temporal  and  mundane.  This  was 
by  mutual  consent  and  should  be  so.  In  addition 
to  this,  Jimmy  was  the  autocrat  of  the  crowd  and 
ruled  us  with  an  iron  hand,  though  there  was 
not  a  man  forward  but  could  have  hove  him  over- 
board. 


138  UNDER  SAIL 

Scouse,  after  the  balance  of  power  had  been 
reestablished  in  the  conflict  with  Joe,  became  one 
of  the  common  folks  again,  and  was  glad  of  it. 
The  bunks  were  arranged  in  order  of  desirability, 
the  able  seamen  taking  the  best  bunks  on  the 
upper  tier  and  near  the  two  ports  or  the  lamp. 
Australia  and  I  were  about  on  a  par  as  far  as 
social  standing  went,  and  when  it  came  to  talk- 
ing about  the  mines  or  discussing  matters  other 
than  those  relating  to  the  sea,  we  often  took  the 
center  of  the  stage. 

Martin,  who  had  been  a  wood  turner  in  his 
youth,  and  Fred,  who  was  a  good  average  sailor 
with  a  discharge  from  the  Revenue  Cutter  Serv- 
ice, generally  acted  as  spear  carriers  in  our  little 
f o'c'sle  comedy.  They  were  excellent  eaters,  both 
of  them,  standing  well  up  in  the  forefront  with 
Scouse  and  Joe;  the  rottenest  cracker  hash  or 
the  most  greasy  salt  pork  never  phased  them. 
To  the  mate  these  men  were  a  constant  inspira- 
tion in  his  flights  of  blasphemy,  and  hardly  a  day 
passed  but  that  he  vented  his  wrath  on  one  of 
them. 

Never  once  during  the  entire  voyage  did  any 
member  of  the  crew  miss  a  single  bit  of  personal 
property.  Add  to  this  the  fact  that  the  general 
moral  tone  of  conversation  among  us  was  far 


CABIN  AND  FO'C'SLE  139 

above  the  average  of  men  who  would  consider 
themselves  superior,  and  we  have  to  at  least  re- 
spect the  crew  of  the  Fuller  as  they  respected 
themselves. 

Chips,  a  melancholy  Norwegian,  a  long,  lanky, 
cadaverous  knight  of  the  caulking  iron  and  the 
carpenter's  bench,  berthed  in  a  little  room  next 
to  the  lamp  locker.  He  was  kept  busy  sounding 
the  well,  and  making  the  constant  repairs  that  a 
well  groomed  wooden  ship  requires.  In  the  in- 
tervals of  this  duty  he  looked  after  the  hatch  tar- 
paulins sheltering  the  precious  cargo,  tended  the 
running  lights,  served  out  the  daily  whack  of 
water,  oiled  the  tiller  tackles,  and  sat  down  to 
dinner  with  the  second  mate.  Poor  Chips!  A 
gentleman  of  the  lower  caste,  eating  aft  and  liv- 
ing forward.  He  was  a  good  fellow,  but  far  too 
gloomy  for  us,  who  were  of  the  "people,"  light 
hearted  ourselves  and  ready  to  crack  a  joke  at 
the  least  opportunity. 

Chips  had  one  other  duty  which  he  performed 
twice  on  our  voyage  round  the  Horn.  On  these 
occasions  he  was  called  upon  to  "salt  the  masts." 
A  small  plug  was  taken  out  of  the  lower  mast 
heads,  and  salt  filled  into  the  hollow  core  of  these 
great  "sticks."  The  fore  and  main  masts  were 
"built  up,"  that  is,  made  up  of  four  quadrantal 


140  UNDER  SAIL 

pieces,  scarfed  full  length,  and  banded  by  stout 
iron  hoops.  At  the  outside  juncture  of  the  built- 
up  pieces  they  were  beveled,  forming  the 
"chapels"  of  the  mast,  the  latter  being  painted 
white  and  giving  the  lower  masts  on  the  fore  and 
main  a  checkerboard  appearance. 

Each  morning  of  the  voyage,  and  particularly 
during  the  fair  weather  part  of  it,  we  were  exer- 
cised at  the  washdown.  This  is  more  than  a  mere 
part  of  the  work  at  sea;  it  is  an  established  in- 
stitution, a  sacred  rite  that  is  carried  on  through 
all  conditions  of  wind  and  weather.  In  the 
tropics  the  washdown  is  a  pleasure,  and  also  a 
necessity,  as  it  alone  keeps  the  decks  tight  and 
the  ship  sanitary. 

A  "water  spar"  would  be  rigged  over  the  side 
to  leeward  at  a  point  in  the  waist  abreast  of  the 
main  hatch.  A  clump  block  and  a  single  whip 
with  a  canvas  water  bucket,  the  rim  weighted 
with  a  ring  of  lead,  was  used  to  haul  aboard  the 
water  which  was  dumped  into  a  deck  barrel.  Coir 
brooms,  wooden  buckets,  and  much  slopping 
about  in  bare  feet  would  usher  in  the  day,  no 
part  of  the  deck  being  neglected. 

The  routine  was :  At  four  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, "Get  your  gear  on  the  pins,"  everything 
being  laid  up  clear  of  the  deck.  "Rig  water 


CABIN  AND  FO'C'SLE  141 

spar,"  and  then  old  Chow  would  run  out  of  the 
galley  with  a  bag  of  hard  bread  and  a  big  can  of 
slops,  while  the  Japanese  steward  would  hurry 
along  the  deck  with  a  cup  and  saucer;  coffee — 
cabin  style,  for  the  refreshment  of  the  mate,  who 
would  sing  out:  "Get  your  coffee,"  and  for  a  few 
minutes  we  would  all  sit  on  the  main  hatch,  in 
fine  weather,  or  crowd  in  the  lee  of  the  forward 
house  if  it  was  stormy,  and  dip  into  the  steaming 
chicory. 

Then — "Get  out  your  washdeck  gear!    Wash 
down!"  and  the  day's  work  would  begin. 


CHAPTER  XI 

CLEANING  HOUSE  AND  A  CELEBRATION 

THE  rough  passage  around  the  Horn — sea- 
going with  the  bark  on — worked  the  discon- 
tent out  of  our  systems,  and  with  the  return  of 
fine  weather,  all  hands  cheered  up  and  life  be- 
came more  and  more  worth  living.  The  dog 
watches  were  lively,  with  hotly  contested  argu- 
ments on  all  topics  under  heaven.  The  less  the 
debaters  knew  about  a  subject,  the  more  they 
would  have  to  say  about  it;  resembling  in  this 
regard  large  numbers  of  more  sophisticated  folk 
ashore.  Some  of  the  discussions  would  last  for 
days,  being  carried  on  as  a  serial  story,  from  dog 
watch  to  dog  watch,  with  overflow  sessions  on 
deck  at  night.  As  none  of  the  contenders  would 
ever  budge  an  inch  from  their  positions,  the 
points  at  issue  always  remained  undecided  except 
in  the  fish  argument,  which  was  settled  by  the 
mate. 

For  a  long  time  Martin,  Joe  and  Scouse  in- 
dulged in  heated  discussion  as  to  whether  fish  was 

142 


CLEANING  HOUSE  143 

meat,  or  whether  it  was  something  else.  Joe  con- 
tended for  the  negative,  that  fish  was  not  meat, 
while  Martin  and  Scouse  insisted  that  fish  and 
meat  were  the  same  thing. 

Joe  had  two  against  him,  but  heing  quicker 
with  his  tongue  he  was  able  to  hold  Scouse  and 
Martin  pretty  well  in  check. 

"If  fish  ain't  meat,  wot  is  it?"  demanded  Mar- 
tin. 'Is  it  wegetables,  or  wot?" 

This  always  stumped  Joe,  but  he  stuck  to  his 
guns  and  came  back  stronger  each  time:  "It's 
fish,  that's  wot  it  is,  F-I-S-H-FISH!"  his  voice 
rising  above  everything  else  in  the  heat  of  argu- 
ment. 

The  debate  finally  closed  in  a  particularly  vio- 
lent session  that  continued  as  our  side  went  aft  to 
muster  in  the  second  dog  watch. 

"Fish  you  say!"  shouted  the  mate  at  the  un- 
heard of  disrespect  on  the  part  of  Joe,  who  was 
frothing  at  the  mouth  in  the  defense  of  his  con- 
tention. "I'll  fish  you,  you  thick-headed  ass," 
and  as  Joe  woke  up  to  the  fact  that  a  new  cham- 
pion had  come  into  the  field,  the  whole  watch 
broke  into  a  laugh  at  the  sequel.  "Fish,  is  it? 
Well,  I'll  fish  you  good  and  proper.  Get  a 
pot  of  slush  and  rub  down  the  mizzen  topmast. 
Drop  a  spot,  and  you  stay  on  deck  tomorrow 


144  UNDER  SAIL 

forenoon,  you  fisherman!"  The  last  with  biting 
sarcasm. 

Joe  lay  aloft  with  his  slush  pot,  and  as  a  bright 
moon  gave  him  plenty  of  light  at  his  work,  it 
also  enabled  the  mate  to  watch  him  closely. 
However,  this  ended  the  argument,  much  to  the 
satisfaction  of  all  of  us,  for  it  was  a  bit  wearing. 

Jimmy  Marshall  had  a  large  dog-eared  Bible 
in  his  possession;  a  red  stamp  on  the  title  page 
read  as  follows:  "Property  of  Seamen's  Bethel, 
Sydney.  Do  not  take  from  chapel"  While 
lying  up  with  his  arm  in  a  sling,  having  been 
tossed  between  the  spare  main  yard  and  the  after 
bitts,  by  a  sea,  he  delved  industriously  into  the 
lore  of  the  good  book;  and  when  he  was  back  on 
deck  again  Jimmy  refused  to  chantey  to  the  tune 
of  "Whiskey,"  and  his  verses,  when  singing  a 
rope  to  "Molly  Brown,"  were  painfully  proper. 

Each  night  in  the  dog  watch  he  insisted  on 
reading  from  the  Old  Testament,  starting  at  the 
very  beginning.  Jimmy  had  a  pair  of  steel- 
rimmed  spectacles,  and  to  further  his  missionary 
work,  he  changed  bunks  with  Scouse,  so  that  he 
could  be  directly  under  the  lamp,  while  the  big 
red-head  moved  into  the  best  bunk  in  the  fo'c'sle 
right  next  to  an  open  port. 

Jimmy  worked  his  way  through  Genesis  and 


CLEANING  HOUSE  145 

got  well  started  on  Exodus  by  the  time  we  picked 
up  the  S.  E.  trades.  His  pronunciation  of  the 
hard  names  was  truly  wonderful  and  required 
much  careful  wiping  of  his  spectacles.  By  the 
time  he  was  within  hailing  distance  of  Leviticus 
we  were  again  approaching  the  doldrums  and 
once  more  we  unbent  our  storm  canvas  and 
shifted  into  the  easy  weather  sails. 

Australia,  one  of  the  most  consistent  chron- 
ologists  of  the  fo'c'sle,  working  by  the  brad-hole- 
and-peg  method,  using  the  stumps  of  burnt 
matches,  pegged  a  hole  around  which  he  had 
scratched  a  circle. 

"The  'dead  horse'  is  worked  off,"  announced 
Australia,  as  we  turned  out  for  breakfast  one 
morning,  springing  a  surprise,  as  it  had  been 
more  than  a  week  since  the  subject  was  broached 
last  in  the  fo'c'sle.  March  5th,  three  months 
since  leaving  the  wharf  at  South  Street!  It 
seemed  a  year  in  point  of  experiences. 

"Well,"  ventured  Martin,  "the  boarding  mas- 
ters are  smiling  today." 

"Yes,  the  lousy  squeezers,  I'll  bet  the  Front 
Street  House  has  a  good  dinner  for  the  boss  on 
my  advance." 

"I  hope  he  chokes,  Joe,"  chipped  in  Fred. 

"Choking  is  too  good  for  them;  burning  is  wot 


146  UNDER  SAIL 

they  want,"  went  on  Joe,  almost  forgetting  his 
breakfast  in  the  heat  of  his  indignation.  "They 
take  in  Australia  and  Martin  and  Fred  and  me, 
and  wot  do  we  get?  Wot  do  we  get?  Why,  a 
few  days'  grub  and  a  lousy,  dirty  bed,  wot  ain't 
fit  to  sleep  on,  and  then  they  send  us  out.  We 
go  down  and  sign,  and  the  next  day  out  to  sea 
for  us  in  this  bloody  hell  wagon.  A  half  a  kit  of 
dog's  wool  and  oakum  slops,  took  from  some  dead 
sailor,  maybe,  and  rotten  poor  oilskins,  and  sea 
boots  that  is  no  good.  A  big  bargain,  and  all  for 
six  quid — that's  all — only  six  quid  for  the  lot;  a 
mess  of  fine  wearin'  rags.  And  today  they  col- 
lect their  hard  earned  money  and  all  we  has  to  do 
is  to  ride  down  here  on  a  yachtin'  toor  round 
Cape  Stiff." 

"It  ain't  right.  It's  hell,  that's  it— hell!" 
agreed  Australia.  "Lookit  me  and  Fred,  and 
Mike,  we  was  only  in  port  two  days.  Just  two 
days  board  and  no  advance  money.  Said  the 
British  Consul  would  get  us  sent  back  to  the 
Ettrick.  And  that  cost  us  six  quid!" 

"Nothing  ain't  right,"  it  was  Jimmy  who 
spoke.  "You  booze,  and  worse,  you  sells  out 
your  manhood  an'  your  rights  to  low  livin'  pigs 
wot  lives  off  o'  the  likes  o'  us.  Its  principles  wot 
you  needs.  Young  men,  take  my  advice  and  get 


CLEANING  HOUSE  147 

principles.  'Ard?  O'  course  it's  'ard  to  get  prin- 
ciples, but  they  saves  you  a  lot  o'  trouble  an'  you 
can  put  away  a  bit.  I  say  live  right  and  you'll 
be  right." 

"How  old  are  you,  anyway?"  demanded  Bren- 
den. 

"Old  enough  to  know  my  own  bloody  busi- 
ness," rejoined  Jimmy,  scenting  a  comeback  on 
his  reform  precepts. 

"Well,  now  that  your  dead  horse  is  worked  off 
you  can  start  in  and  save  until  you  hit  New  York 
again." 

"Well,  if  I  do  save  a  bit,  it's  none  o'  the  likes 
o'  a  Dutchman  like  you  wot'll  'elp  me  spend  it," 
and  Jimmy  hopped  out  of  the  fo'c'sle  at  eight 
bells  sharp.  The  mate  was  so  surprised  to  see 
him  leading  the  watch  aft  that  he  promptly  sent 
him  up  to  the  fore  skysail  to  loose  sail,  for  the 
night  had  been  squally  and  the  second  mate  had 
taken  in  the  kites,  a  thing  he  was  prone  to  do, 
while  the  mate  always  promptly  set  them  again. 

After  the  argument  about  the  advance,  we  all 
made  up  our  minds  to  work  off  no  more  dead 
horses.  As  Australia  put  it,  "A  year  at  sea  and 
a  week  in  port,  and  nothing  to  show  for  it." 

Most  of  us  had  slop  accounts  to  clear  off  with 
the  skipper,  and  then  the  velvet  would  pile  up  at 


148  UNDER  SAIL 

the  rate  of  eighteen  dollars  a  month,  at  that  time 
standard  wages  out  of  the  port  of  New  York  for 
deepwater  sailors. 

None  of  the  men  had  shaved  for  at  least  a 
month,  and  the  crew  forward  presented  a  truly 
deep  sea  appearance;  "Rooshin  Jews  on  a  ocean 
picnic,"  was  the  comment  of  Jimmy,  who  never 
shaved,  and  whose  whiskers  also  failed  to  increase 
but  rather  diminished  in  their  moth-eaten  way. 

On  the  first  Sunday  of  real  fine  weather,  when 
the  bushes  were  beginning  to  get  uncomfortable, 
the  fo'c'sle  barbers  got  busy  in  both  watches. 
Frenchy  and  Australia  were  the  tonsorialists  of 
our  watch  and  after  taking  on  all  hands,  Frenchy 
shaved  Australia  and  trimmed  his  mustache. 
Hair  cuts  were  had  by  all  and  the  effect  was 
good.  Perhaps  the  feeling  of  cleanliness  due  to 
the  trimming  had  something  to  do  with  the  desire 
for  a  "field  day";  at  any  rate,  two  of  the  men, 
Old  Smith,  of  starboard,  and  Frenchy,  went  aft 
and  got  permission  from  the  mate  to  have  a  cele- 
bration. 

The  coming  Wednesday  was  named,  and  as 
we  were  then  on  the  edge  of  the  S.  E.  trades,  the 
day  broke  fine.  Accordingly  after  breakfast  that 
morning  the  watch  on  deck,  all  but  the  helmsman, 


CLEANING  HOUSE  149 

were  allowed  to  go  forward  and  assist  in  remov- 
ing the  contents  of  the  fo'c'sle. 

The  watch  below  also  turned  to,  and  green  and 
blue  sea  chests  with  wonderful  "tumble  home" 
sides  and  fancy  canvas  tops;  plain  canvas  bags, 
"the  sailor's  round-bottomed  trunk";  bags  with 
fancy  eyelets  and  elaborate  grommets ;  well-worn 
blankets ;  knobby  straw  mattresses,  the  "donkey's 
breakfast"  of  the  sea;  and  all  of  the  humble  fur- 
nishings of  the  fo'c'sle  of  a  deepwater  merchant- 
man, were  hauled  out  on  deck  in  the  light  of  day. 
The  fore  rigging,  the  bottoms  of  the  upturned 
boats  on  the  forward  house  and  the  fo'c'sle  head, 
were  littered  with  these  things  as  box  and  bag 
yielded  up  their  contents  to  the  purifying  action 
of  the  sun.  All  of  our  salt  encrusted  gear  was 
rinsed  out  in  a  barrel  of  rain  water,  saved  for  the 
purpose,  until  free  from  salt,  as  most  of  our 
clothing  was  so  highly  hygroscopic  that  the  least 
fall  of  dew  would  make  them  damp  and  clammy. 

We  then  rigged  the  water  spar,  and  with  a  lib- 
eral supply  of  sand  and  canvas  and  with  ffki-yi" 
brooms  we  scrubbed  our  home  until  the  place 
fairly  radiated.  The  scuttle  butt  was  cleaned  out 
and  re-charred,  the  fo'c'sle  lamp  taken  down  and 
polished,  and  two  hands  got  busy  and  gave  the 
ceiling  a  fresh  coat  of  white  paint,  brightening 


150  UNDER  SAIL 

up  things  to  a  wonderful  extent,  for  this  had  not 
been  done  for  some  years. 

All  doors  and  ports  were  left  open  to  allow 
the  fo'c'sle  to  dry  out,  and  at  noon  both  watches 
lunched  together,  "al  fresco,"  under  the  shade  of 
the  fores'l.  A  hamper  of  chicken  sandwiches,  a 
case  of  cold  beer,  and  a  box  of  cigars  would  have 
delightfully  rounded  out  our  dinner  of  pork  and 
pea  soup.  However,  we  were  in  a  merry  mood 
and  the  unaccustomed  company  of  the  other 
watch  made  the  simple  fare  and  weevil-ridden 
tack  taste  particularly  good.  Besides,  relations 
with  the  after-guard  were  becoming  more  and 
more  pleasant.  The  fight  between  Tony  and  Mr. 
Stoddard  had  faded  from  mind  in  the  trying 
weeks  that  had  intervened  and  the  feeling  of  an- 
ticipation, as  we  neared  the  end  of  the  passage, 
helped  to  make  us  receptive  to  better  things. 

By  gradual  stages,  without  in  any  way  com- 
promising their  dignity,  our  experienced  officers 
assumed  a  less  harsh  way  of  speaking;  orders 
were  mandatory  to  the  last  degree,  of  course,  but 
less  liberally  spiced  with  profanity.  An  occa- 
sional joke  on  the  part  of  those  aft  would  send  a 
ripple  of  laughter  among  the  men  pulling  at 
sheet  or  halyard.  The  cook  also  felt  the  mysteri- 
ous balmy  influence  of  the  Pacific  sunshine,  and 


CLEANING  HOUSE  151 

every  other  day  we  would  be  delighted  with  a  big 
pan  of  ginger  bread  in  the  fo'c'sle.  On  Sundays 
we  would  have  duff  with  real  raisins  in  it. 

Honolulu  was  drawing  near;  none  of  us  had 
more  than  a  few  dollars  of  pay  on  the  books,  and 
crews  among  the  island  and  coast  traders  were 
hard  to  get,  with  pay  correspondingly  high.  Per- 
haps this  had  something  to  do  with  the  change  of 
atmosphere.  Even  those  who  had  the  most  rea- 
son to  complain  were  beginning  to  cheer  up  and 
forget  their  troubles  of  the  past. 

A  clean  fo'c'sle,  dry,  well  aired  bedding,  and 
smiling  skies,  ushered  us  into  the  region  of  the 
equatorial  rains.  The  flying  fish  began  to  zip 
through  the  air  again  with  increasing  frequency 
and  the  mates  as  usual  gathered  them  up,  but, 
strangest  of  strange  things,  the  cook  was  told  to 
send  half  of  the  catch  forward.  The  daily  thun- 
derstorms came  with  their  accustomed  regularity. 
At  about  eight  bells  in  the  afternoon  watch  it 
would  cloud  up  suddenly,  any  sails  spread  out  on 
deck,  in  the  course  of  repair,  would  be  hastily 
dragged  to  the  sail  locker  or  under  the  fo'c'sle 
head,  and  presto! — a  rumble  of  thunder  would 
follow  the  first  faint  flashes  of  lightning.  Then 
several  bright  jagged  discharges  would  come  in 
quick  succession,  a  clap  of  Jove's  artillery,  and  a 


152  UNDER  SAIL 

douse  of  rain,  followed  by  the  golden  rays  of  the 
sun  streaming  through  such  rainbows  as  are  sel- 
dom seen  anywhere  but  in  those  latitudes. 

During  a  tropic  storm  at  night,  just  after  leav- 
ing the  trades,  we  were  roused  out  at  midnight 
and  ordered  aloft  to  take  in  the  t'gans'ls.  The 
yards  and  rigging  were  soaked  with  rain,  and, 
as  we  got  to  the  tops,  St.  Elmo's  fires  started  to 
flicker  on  the  yard  arms  with  a  pale  blue  light. 
The  night  was  black,  and  oppressive  with  the  hot 
humid  wind,  we  were  wet  and  clammy,  and  the 
sleep  was  in  our  eyes  when 

"And  sudden  breaking  on  their  raptured  sight, 
Appeared  the  splendor  of  St.  Elmo's  light." 

Jimmy  Marshall,  fear  clutching  at  his  heart, 
refused  to  mount  the  futtock  shrouds;  springing 
to  the  forward  leg  of  the  main  topmast  back- 
stays, he  slid  to  the  deck  while  the  rest  of  us  went 
aloft.  The  stoutest  of  us,  however,  were  touched 
with  superstitious  feelings.  The  "corposants,"  as 
the  men  called  them,  started  us  on  a  series  of 
ghost  stories  in  the  night  watches  on  deck.  A 
few  days  later  we  were  becalmed  in  a  dense  fog, 
such  as  sometimes  is  encountered  in  the  warm, 
damp  region  bordering  the  line.  Joe  went  aft  to 
relieve  the  wheel  just  after  listening  to  a  grue- 


CLEANING  HOUSE  153 

some  tale.  A  giant  man  out  in  the  fog  over  the 
quarter  reached  for  Joe  when  abreast  of  the  open 
door  of  the  wheel  house.  Joe  nearly  fainted  with 
fright,  at  the  sight  of  his  own  shadow  thrown  on 
the  fog  wall  by  the  naked  binnacle  light  that  the 
helmsman  had  taken  from  the  cowl  to  trim. 


CHAPTER  XII 

MAKING   PORT 

ONE  hundred  and  seven  days  out  from 
Sandy  Hook,  we  crossed  the  line  for  the 
second  time  in  longitude  122°  west  from  Green- 
wich. The  grooming  for  port  then  started  in 
grim  earnest.  Holystones  were  brought  out  and 
the  time-honored  couplet  of  the  sea, 

Six  days  shalt  thou  labor  and  do  all  that  thou  art  able, 
And  on  the  seventh  holystone  the  deck  and  scrape  the  cable. 

became  a  matter  of  routine  on  board  the  Fuller. 
Captain  Nichols  had  never  been  in  the  islands 
before,  in  fact  none  of  us  had,  and  we  were  to 
make  our  acquaintance  with  them  dressed  up  and 
polished  in  Yankee  form. 

The  art  of  holystoning,  as  practiced  on  Ameri- 
can deepwater  ships,  deserves  a  special  niche  in 
the  archives  of  the  sea.  No  more  thorough  pro- 
ceeding can  be  imagined.  To  the  steamship  hand 
who  holystones  like  a  gentleman,  at  the  end  of  a 
long  handle,  the  art  has  lost  its  fine  points.  On 

154 


MAKING  PORT  155 

the  Fuller  we  dug  into  the  work  in  deep  sea 
fashion.  Our  knees  became  sore  from  constant 
"praying"  and  the  skin  on  our  hands  was  worn 
down  thin,  making  us  tender  in  hauling  at  the 
braces  or  going  aloft.  To  overcome  the  hardness 
of  the  deck,  we  rigged  up  pieces  of  board  to  which 
three  cleats  were  nailed  and  a  strip  of  old  canvas 
stretched  over  them.  This  afforded  a  yielding 
cushion  to  kneel  on  and  kept  our  legs  out  of  the 
water  swishing  about  with  the  rolling  of  the  ship. 

We  worked  in  gangs,  sawing  away  with  the 
stones  and  wearing  a  scum  of  wood  from  the 
deck.  Each  man  soon  became  jealous  of  the 
work  done  by  his  shipmates  and  we  were  careful 
to  keep  all  hands  going,  as  there  was  a  certain 
amount  of  deck  to  be  gone  over,  and  the  sooner 
finished  the  better.  In  holystoning  we  used  two 
sizes  of  stones,  the  larger  ones  called  "bibles"  and 
the  small  pieces,  useful  for  getting  into  the  cor- 
ners and  along  the  edges  of  paint  work,  known 
as  "prayer  books." 

From  the  time  of  commencing  to  holystone, 
and  slick  up  for  port,  there  was  no  more  watch 
below  in  the  afternoon;  the  watch  coming  on 
deck  at  eight  in  the  morning  would  stay  on  deck 
until  six  in  the  evening  with  a  half  hour  below 
at  noon  for  dinner.  Going  below  at  six,  supper 


156  UNDER  SAIL 

would  be  had  and  at  eight  the  watch  that  had 
been  on  deck  all  day  would  turn  out  for  the  first 
watch  at  night. 

Thus,  every  other  day,  a  watch  coming  on  in 
the  morning  would  have  eighteen  hours  of  duty 
on  deck  during  the  following  twenty-four.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  other  watch  would  merely 
have  the  usual  watch  and  watch.  Of  all  diaboli- 
cal inventions  for  working  men  this  afternoon  on 
deck  was  best  designed. 

While  still  in  the  doldrums,  and  after  the  holy- 
stoning had  been  completed,  we  were  set  to  clean- 
ing the  sides  of  the  ship  where  the  rust  had 
worked  through,  and  where  the  dirt  from  the 
scum  rubbed  off  the  decks  had  streaked  long  lines 
down  from  the  scuppers.  We  liked  this  work, 
scrubbing  the  black  sides,  and  painting.  It  al- 
ways seemed  to  me  like  a  vacation  to  get  outside 
of  the  ship  and  off  of  the  familiar  deck.  Scaf- 
folds were  rigged  and  sometimes  our  feet  would 
dangle  in  the  cool  water  on  the  shady  side  of  the 
hull. 

One  day  there  was  a  commotion  as  Brenden 
and  I  worked  away  on  a  plank  slung  beneath  the 
mizzen  channels.  The  water  under  us  surged  up 
and  a  great  black  object  rose  beneath  our  feet, 
for  all  the  world  like  a  submarine  boat  coming  to 


MAKING  PORT  157 

the  surface.  Outcries  brought  all  hands  to  the 
ship's  side.  A  huge  whale  had  come  up  in  the 
shadow  of  the  ship.  Some  hands  ran  forward, 
and  presently  big  Scouse  came  aft  on  the  run 
carrying  a  harpoon  from  the  bosun's  locker  and 
a  coil  of  heaving  line. 

As  he  was  mounting  the  rail  the  mate  jumped 
after  him,  yanked  the  harpoon  from  his  grasp  and 
sent  the  red  head  scurrying  forward. 

"You  damned  mutton-headed  ass!"  he  cried. 
"Do  you  want  to  send  us  all  to  the  bottom? 
That's  a  razorback.  He'll  ram  us,  quick  as  hell, 
if  we  rile  him." 

The  whale  sank  from  sight  as  suddenly  as  he 
appeared,  and,  razorback  or  not,  we  had  no  op- 
portunity to  try  his  temper. 

The  sight  of  the  whale  started  all  hands  for- 
ward looking  for  ambergris.  This  was  described 
as  a  grayish  amberlike  substance  to  be  found 
floating  on  the  unsuspecting  surface  of  the  sea  in 
large  chunks  of  fortune,  the  finding  of  which 
would  set  a  man  up  on  a  cosy  farm  for  life,  or 
enable  him  to  see  a  snug  retirement  behind  his 
own  bar  and  beer  kegs.  Frenchy  and  Jimmy 
both  had  seen  ambergris,  and  for  a  while  regaled 
us  with  many  tales  of  its  origin,  value  and  uses. 

One  of  the  results  of  the  prospecting  over- 


158  UNDER  SAIL 

board  for  ambergris  as  we  lazed  along  in  the 
tropic  seas  of  the  Pacific  was  the  better  knowl- 
edge we  obtained  of  the  abounding  life  in  the  sea. 
In  after  years  when  at  sea  on  the  decks  of  swiftly 
moving  steamers,  I  have  often  pondered  over  the 
sights  that  were  given  us  of  the  queer  inhabitants 
of  the  deep  as  we  slowly  worked  our  way  across 
the  ocean  in  the  Fuller.  From  her  low  decks, 
when  becalmed,  or  when  sailing  along  at  from 
four  to  five  knots  in  fine  weather,  especially  in 
the  tropic  seas,  the  teeming  life  in  the  depths 
below  was  brought  very  close  to  us. 

The  glint  of  queer  fins,  the  vivid  flash  of  some 
big  fish  rising  near  the  surface  in  hot  pursuit  of 
prey,  and  the  common  sight  of  a  school  of  flying 
fishes  rising  from  the  water  just  in  time  to  miss 
the  cruel  jaws  of  their  pursuers,  gave  us  a  faint 
idea  of  the  ruthless  rule  of  might  below.  Often 
the  smother  of  white  mist  as  the  cloud  of  flyers 
would  rise,  and  the  swift  black  demons  in  hot 
chase  under  them,  like  avenging  torpedoes  tear- 
ing through  the  blue,  would  show  glimpses  of 
other  and  larger  fish  after  the  pursuers. 

Time  and  again  we  would  lie  out  on  the  mar- 
tingale and  look  under  the  fore  foot  of  the  ship 
to  see  if  there  was  a  pilot  fish  around.  These 
queer  customers  would  swim  along  just  under 


MAKING  PORT  159 

the  stem  of  the  ship,  convict  garbed,  in  thwart- 
ship  black  and  white  stripes,  and  about  two  feet 
long.  The  presence  of  a  pilot  fish  under  the  bow 
was  evidence  of  a  shark  under  the  bottom  of  the 
vessel,  swimming  along  in  the  hope  that  some- 
thing edible  would  be  thrown  overboard,  or  that 
the  vessel  would  founder  and  disgorge  her  human 
freight  into  the  deep. 

Wnole  flotillas  of  the  dainty  nautilus  would 
sail  by  us  for  days.  These  "Portuguese  men-o'- 
war,"  as  sailors  call  them,  spread  a  shell-like  sail 
to  the  wind,  pink  and  airy,  gliding  gaily  before 
the  gentle  zephyrs  of  the  line.  They  truly  teach 
us  a  lesson,  as  Pope  has  it: 

"Learn  of  the  Little  Nautilus  to  sail 
Spread  the  thin  oar,  and  catch  the  driving  gale." 

With  the  picking  up  of  the  N.  E.  trade  wind 
a  few  degrees  north  of  the  line,  we  knew  that  the 
main  haul  to  Honolulu  was  on  its  last  stages. 
There  was  more  easting  in  the  wind  than  is  gen- 
erally the  case,  and  we  made  good  progress,  hold- 
ing a  course  well  to  windward  of  Hawaii.  For  a 
week  at  a  time  we  cut  through  the  water  at  an 
average  speed  above  ten  knots,  going  it  night  and 
day.  The  sailing  was  glorious  and  we  all  felt  the 
thrill  of  it.  Were  we  not  rushing  forward  to  a 


160  UNDER  SAIL 

paradise  set  in  the  middle  of  the  broad  Pacific  for 
our  rest  and  refreshment?  We  hungered  for 
fresh  provisions  and  for  a  decent  sleep  of  more 
than  a  shade  over  three  and  a  half  hours  at  a 
stretch.  The  afternoons  on  deck  had  worn  us 
down  and  the  cooler  winds  bringing  such  speed 
and  hope  were  a  wonderful  tonic. 

"Will  I  take  in  the  skysails?"  Mr.  Stoddard 
asked  of  the  captain  one  night  as  he  came  on  deck 
to  take  the  mid-watch.  I  was  at  the  wheel  turn- 
ing over  the  course  to  Axel,  who  came  aft  to  re- 
lieve me.  The  Fuller  was  boiling  along,  every- 
thing taut,  the  white  water  in  her  lee  scuppers. 

"No,  leave  them  blow  away,"  said  the  skipper, 
laughing.  However,  we  found  him  on  deck  still 
at  four  in  the  morning  and  he  took  coffee  with 
the  mate  before  going  below  for  a  nap.  But  the 
skysails  "stayed  put"  and  indeed  every  bit  of  rag 
was  doing  noble  duty. 

"The  Honolulu  girls  have  us  in  tow,"  was  the 
slogan  on  board. 

At  brace  and  sheet  and  halyard,  we  sung  our 
ropes  with  a  will,  and  a  cheerier  crowd  of  weath- 
er-worn, under-fed  and  half-rested  humanity 
would  be  hard  to  find.  Man  is  an  adaptable  ani- 
mal, more  rugged  than  the  beasts  of  burden,  and 
cheaper  than  machinery,  and  in  the  lesson  taught 


MAKING  PORT  161 

us  on  the  clean  white  decks  of  the  Fuller  is  to  be 
found  the  remaining  hope  for  the  survival  of  sail. 
It  is  cheaper,  and  with  the  advent  of  iron  boxes 
rigged  by  means  of  screws,  and  bolts,  and  nuts, 
the  sailor  of  the  marling  spike  days  will  not  be 
needed.  Crews  can  be  recruited,  and  fed  for  less 
than  it  takes  to  make  steam,  and  men  can  be 
found  to  sail  them,  to  drive  them,  as  we  were 
driven,  and  if  they,  too,  are  past  masters  at  the 
art,  to  lull  the  crews  into  a  state  of  con- 
tentment, and  even  happiness,  after  experiences 
that  would  cause  a  revolt  in  the  worst  peniten- 
tiary of  the  land. 

When  in  154  degrees  of  west  longitude,  and 
21  degrees  north  latitude,  Captain  Nichols  up 
helm  and  shaped  a  course  direct  for  the  northeast 
point  of  the  Island  of  Molokai,  the  leper  island 
of  the  Hawaiian  group.  We  made  the  land  just 
before  nightfall.  Anchors  were  got  over  the  bow 
ready  for  letting  go  in  case  of  emergency,  and 
the  dipsea  lead  was  placed  handy  on  the  fo'c'sle 
head,  the  line  being  carried  aft,  outside  of  all 
gear,  to  the  tub  at  the  taffrail,  in  which  the  bulk 
of  it  was  coiled.  A  small  snatch  block  on  the 
weather  mizzen  t'gallant  backstay  was  ready  for 
hauling  in  should  we  have  to  take  a  cast.  The 
hand  lead,  or  blue  pigeon,  was  coiled  in  the  miz- 


162  UNDER  SAIL 

zen  chains ;  I  was  told  by  the  mate  to  stand  by  in 
case  we  should  have  to  use  it,  my  schoolship  train- 
ing having  made  me  a  good  leadsman. 

All  was  excitement  on  board  as  we  closed  in 
with  the  land,  the  good  smell  of  it  coming  out  to 
us  as  we  raced  into  the  Kaiwi  Strait,  lying  be- 
tween Molokai  and  Oahu,  upon  the  southern 
shore  of  which  Honolulu  is  situated. 

At  midnight  we  were  abreast  of  Koko  Head, 
a  peak  near  the  eastern  end  of  Oahu.  We  put 
down  our  helm  and  hauled  our  wind  ahead,  brac- 
ing sharp,  under  easy  canvas,  on  the  starboard 
tack,  the  ship  heading  north.  Skysails,  royals, 
and  flying  jib  were  allowed  to  hang  in  their  gear, 
while  we  hauled  up  the  mains'l,  and  furled  the 
crojik,  at  the  same  time  setting  the  spanker. 

At  four  bells  in  the  mid-watch,  closing  in  with 
the  land  faster  than  was  comfortable  to  sailors 
accustomed  to  large  sea  room,  we  wore  ship,  and 
headed  her  back  toward  Molokai. 

We  wore  ship  again  before  daybreak  in  order 
to  hold  the  weather  gauge  off  Diamond  Head, 
and  at  the  first  streak  of  dawn  we  squared  away 
and  the  Fuller  was  put  under  full  sail  as  we  bore 
down  past  Diamond  Head  for  the  entrance  to 
Honolulu  Harbor. 

A  whale  boat  put  out  from  the  land  carrying 


MAKING  PORT  163 

the  pilot,  followed  by  a  wheezy  tug  of  diminutive 
build.  We  put  down  our  helm,  paid  a  hawser 
out  over  the  bow  to  the  tug,  and  as  we  horsed  up 
on  her  the  Kanakas  started  a  panic  cry  on  her 
decks,  while  the  captain  on  the  poop  shouted 
rapid  orders  to  both  mates  and  we  let  our  yards 
down  by  the  run  and  swayed  up  on  the  courses, 
manning  the  clew  garnets,  clewlines  and  bunt- 
lines  in  feverish  haste. 

"Take  the  lead!"  the  mate  shouted  to  me,  and 
at  a  nod  from  Captain  Nichols,  I  sent  the  blue 
pigeon  shooting  out  ahead  into  the  clear  blue 
water  of  the  harbor  entrance  as  we  ran  down  be- 
tween the  barrel  and  spar  buoys  that  mark  the 
fairway. 

"And  a  half,  six!"  I  felt  sand.  "Hard  bot- 
tom!" 

The  pilot  came  over  to  me  and  looked  curious. 
"No  need  of  this,  captain,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  give  the  lad  some  exercise,  pilot,"  the 
skipper  answered.  "It  won't  hurt  him." 

"By  the  mark,  five!" 

We  were  running  past  the  sea  wall  and  the 
boathouse  to  starboard.  I  could  see  the  light- 
house over  the  deck  on  the  port  bow.  The  tug 
was  whistling,  and  as  we  swung  to  port,  into  the 
harbor  proper,  I  noted  the  marine  railway  and 


164  UNDER  SAIL 

the  Pacific  Mail  Wharf  with  a  lot  of  people  on 
the  Esplanade  watching  us  come  in. 

"Mark  under  water,  five!"  I  shouted. 

"All  right,  Felix,  come  in;  that'll  do,"  said  the 
skipper,  and  a  few  minutes  later  I  found  myself 
on  the  mizzen  skysail,  furling  sail.  We  were 
brought  to  in  the  stream  by  letting  go  the  port 
anchor  and  casting  off  the  tug  at  the  same  time, 
and,  as  the  chain  rattled  through  the  hawse  pipes 
in  a  smoke  of  rust,  a  whistle  on  a  factory  ashore 
blew  a  long  blast  of  welcome.  It  was  noon,  the 
harbor  life  suddenly  stopped,  for  we  missed  the 
faint  rattle  of  steam  winches  and  the  shouting  of 
the  Kanaka  stevedores  at  the  railroad  wharf. 

"Now  give  us  a  harbor  furl,  boys,"  called  up 
the  mate.  And  as  we  worked  away,  we  noted 
the  captain  going  ashore  in  the  whale  boat  with 
the  pilot.  Below  us  stretched  the  most  beautiful 
city  in  the  world;  cool  looking  green  palm  trees 
lined  the  streets,  the  fat  squat  outline  of  the 
Punchbowl  rose  gratefully  verdant  behind  the 
little  city,  a  restful  sight  to  our  sea-weary  eyes, 
and  far  beyond  we  looked  up  into  the  misty 
vista  of  the  Nuuanu  Valley.  Stranger  still,  on 
the  wharves  we  noted  native  and  white  women 
in  their  fresh  looking  white  dresses,  and  we  could 
hear  the  cries  of  children  at  play. 


MAKING  PORT  165 

Laying  down  from  aloft  we  squared  yards, 
and  went  below  for  our  dinner  of  pea  soup  and 
pork,  with  a  kid  of  cabin  tack — a  piece  of  strat- 
egy on  the  part  of  Chow  that  was  truly  an  in- 
spiration. The  sight  of  weevils,  and  the  near 
view  of  the  clean  sweet  shore,  would  have  been 
too  great  a  contrast. 

We  opened  hatches  that  afternoon,  ready  for 
the  port  warden's  inspection,  ripping  out  the 
caulking  of  oakum  and  taking  off  the  three  lay- 
ers of  tarpaulin,  but  not  lifting  the  covers.  We 
also  sent  down  the  fore  and  main  courses  and 
tops'ls,  and  cockbilled  the  main  yard  for  a  cargo 
boom,  rigging  the  cargo  pendant  from  the  main 
topmast  head,  the  same  being  stayed  out  over 
the  main  hatch  by  a  fall  from  the  fore  topmast 
cross  trees. 

At  four  o'clock  the  captain  returned  with  a 
boatload  of  fresh  provisions,  joints  of  clean  red 
meat,  fresh  vegetables,  onions,  green  stuff,  ba- 
nanas and  pineapples,  and  a  big  basket  of  real 
baker's  bread,  the  loaves  rich  and  mellow  in  the 
sunlight,  like  bricks  of  gold.  How  our  eyes 
popped  out  at  the  sight  and  smell  of  this  treasure 
cargo  from  the  shore!  Our  salt  ridden  senses 
were  starved  for  something  fresh  and  clean.  A 
dozen  hands  rushed  to  the  side  to  help  unload 


166 


UNDER  SAIL 


the  boat,  passing  the  grub  up  the  ladder  and 
carrying  it  in  to  Chow. 

Captain  Nichols  also  announced  that  we  would 
go  alongside  at  Brewer's  Wharf  the  next  day. 

At  six,  in  the  evening  glow  of  the  harbor,  we 
pumped  her  out  and  went  below  for  supper. 
Vegetable  soup,  floating  with  fresh  green  things 
and  rich  in  meat  extract ;  steak,  onions,  and  pota- 
toes! Have  you  ever  been  without  potatoes  for 
three  months?  If  you  have  you  will  know  how  it 


feels  to  crave  them.     The  fresh  bread  and  the 
delicious  ripe  bananas  topped  off  the  meal. 

We  were  too  full  to  speak,  all  hands  together 
at  our  feast  under  the  break  of  the  foYsle  head. 
Millionaires  cannot  buy  such  appreciation,  and 
our  bellies  were  stretched  to  the  utmost  limit. 


MAKING  PORT  167 

An  anchor  watch  was  set,  by  lot,  of  one  hour 
tricks,  and  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  escape. 
Before  eight  o'clock  the  fo'c'sle  was  heavy  with 
slumber  as  we  dreamed  away  the  hours  in  such 
heaven  sent  rest  as  only  the  angels  can  under- 
stand ;  we  were  one  hundred  and  twenty-one  days 
out  from  the  port  of  New  York,  and  our  first 
night  of  unbroken  sleep  ahead  of  us. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

IN  HONOLULU  TOWN 

We  have  had  enough  of  action,  and  of  motion;  we 

Rolled  to  starboard,  rolled  to  larboard,  when  the  surge  was 

seething  free 
Where  the  wallowing  monster  spouted  his  foam  fountains  in 

the  sea. 

Let  us  swear  an  oath  and  keep  it  with  an  equal  mind 
In  the  hollow  lotus-land  to  live  and  die  reclined, 
On  the  hills  like  Gods  together,,  careless  of  mankind. 

Tennyson. 

WELL,  now  that  we  are  here,  what?"  Joe 
put  the  universal  question.  "I  hopes  we 
has  it  a  bit  easy  for  a  change,"  he  went  on,  seeing 
that  no  one  rose  to  his  query,  and  no  doubt  some 
dim,  subconscious  yearning  must  have  stirred  in 
the  recesses  of  Joe's  mind;  perhaps  the  sight  of 
the  palms  may  have  wakened  this,  for  in  his 
clumsy  way  he  voiced  the  spirit  of  the  poet.  In- 
deed we  had  all  of  us  sensed  the  languor  of  that 
lotus-land  in  the  humid  morning  vistas  of  heavy 
tropical  foliage  lining  the  avenues  of  the  city, 

168 


IN  HONOLULU  TOWN  169 

and  stretching  far  beyond  into  the  blue-green 
richness  of  the  Nuuanu  Valley.  After  months 
of  deep  sea  existence,  the  smell  and  feel  of  the 
ripe,  luxurious  land  came  to  us  with  a  powerful 
appeal.  All  of  us  felt  this,  but,  sailor-like,  the 
feeling  was  disguised  in  various  ways. 

"I  hope  them  bulls  aft  gives  us  a  fair  deal/' 
went  on  Joe.  We  were  at  breakfast,  both 
watches  together,  assembled  outside  the  fo'c'sle 
doors. 

"Fair  deal!"  snapped  Old  Smith  as  he  speared 
a  spud.  "Say,  you  young  heifer,  do  you  think 
you  was  brung  all  the  way  out  to  Honolulu  for 
to  loll  back  at  your  ease  and  eat  the  bread  fruit, 
that  we  reads  about,  offen  the  fatness  of  the  land, 
without  no  toil  nor  trouble?  You'll  get  your 
damned  good  whack  of  sweatin'  here.  I  know 
these  ships,  and  it  won't  be  just  because  the 
weather  is  hot,  neither." 

This  was  followed  by  dire  predictions  of  hard 
grinding  to  come,  ghastly  prospects  fathomed 
from  the  depth  of  experience  by  such  masters  of 
discouragement  as  Jimmy  Marshall  and  Aus- 
tralia. 

"Say,  shut  up,  will  you!  Maybe  it  won't  be 
so  bad,"  piped  Frenchy,  who  never  liked  to  have 
his  meals  interrupted,  especially  when  we  were 


170  UNDER  SAIL 

breakfasting  on  dry  hash  made  with  potatoes  and 
onions,  a  real  feed  much  needed  by  our  hungry 
crowd.  We  had  turned  out  at  dawn  for  a  hasty 
washdown,  had  put  the  long  boat  over  the  side, 
and  rousing  out  a  number  of  large  manila  haw- 
sers, had  flaked  them  down  in  the  boat  ready  for 
warping.  The  cable  was  hove  short  and  the 
quarter  moorings  were  taken  in.  In  addition  to 
this  a  number  of  the  men  under  the  second  mate 
had  completed  the  rigging  of  the  cargo  gear. 
The  carpenter,  with  me  helping  him,  had  rigged 
the  dolly,  wedging  it  under  the  pinrail  on  the 
starboard  side  just  forward  of  the  main  hatch 
with  blocks  of  wood  and  a  small  jackscrew.  The 
large  cargo  blocks  had  been  hooked  and  moused 
to  the  pendants,  and  the  falls  were  rove,  all  for 
the  starboard  side,  as  the  skipper  had  inspected 
the  berth  and  that  was  to  be  our  side  for  dis- 
charging at  the  Brewer  Wharf. 

Breakfast  came  as  a  rest,  a  breathing  and  a 
talking  spell  with  a  good  day's  work  already  to 
our  credit.  The  change  in  routine,  however, 
made  the  work  seem  easy  enough,  for  we  arose 
from  our  full  night  of  rest  with  a  feeling  of 
wonderful  vitality.  Word  came  out  that  an 
island  steamer  would  hold  the  berth  at  the  Brewer 
Wharf  until  noon,  and  we  were  to  warp  in  to  the 


IN  HONOLULU  TOWN          171 

Oceanic  Steamship  landing  to  allow  the  port 
warden  and  the  agents  the  opportunity  to  inspect 
the  hatches  and  make  a  survey  of  the  condition 
of  the  cargo,  at  the  same  time  bringing  us  that 
much  nearer  our  berth. 

A  plunge  overboard  in  the  early  dawn,  the  last 
man  on  anchor  watch  having  called  me  a  half 
hour  before  the  rest,  put  me  in  fine  fettle.  All 
hands  were  eager  to  get  foot  ashore  and  the  pros- 
pect of  tying  up  to  the  beach  filled  us  with  ex- 
pectancy. The  fresh  grub,  the  full  night  in,  and 
the  electric  atmosphere  of  contact  with  human 
affairs,  gave  us  a  keen  sense  of  being  again  in  the 
world  of  the  living.  After  breakfast  we  sat 
around  for  a  few  precious  moments  smoking  and 
yarning  as  we  gazed  toward  the  shore.  News 
filtered  out  that  the  battleship  Maine  had  been 
blown  up  in  Havana  harbor  on  the  night  of  Feb- 
ruary 15th.  War  with  Spain  was  imminent  and 
the  port  of  Honolulu  was  pregnant  with  impend- 
ing world  affairs,  made  even  more  intense  by  the 
fact  that  there  was  no  cable  in  those  days  and 
news  came  only  at  intervals  with  the  arrival  of 
the  mail  steamers.  War  might  be  declared  at 
any  moment  and  rumor  had  it  that  a  squadron  of 
raiders  from  the  Philippines  might  descend  on 
the  port. 


172  UNDER  SAIL 

The  gunboat  Bennington  lay  in  the  harbor 
with  the  old  training  ship  Mohegan  and  constant 
gun  drills  were  being  gone  through. 

We  "turned  to"  promptly  after  breakfast,  and 
while  one  watch  carried  out  the  lines  the  other 
manned  the  capstan  bars  and  broke  out  the  hook 
as  soon  as  the  warp  was  thrown  over  a  cluster  of 
piles  on  the  Esplanade.  When  the  anchor  came 
up  dripping  with  gray  mud,  the  long  warp  was 
carried  in  over  the  fo'c'sle  head  and  taken  to  the 
main  deck  capstan  and  we  walked  the  ship  along- 
side in  the  good  old-fashioned  way. 

At  the  string  piece  of  the  wharf  there  was  a 
misunderstanding  as  to  orders.  The  mate  being 
in  command  took  occasion  to  deliver  his  compli- 
ments to  the  second  mate  in  no  uncertain  tones. 
So  refreshing  was  the  spectacle  of  wrath  de- 
scending upon  the  head  of  the  hated  second  mate 
that  all  hands  stood  idle  grinning  at  the  show. 
The  old  saying,  "trouble  aft;  good  times  for- 
ward," at  once  went  into  effect.  Mr.  Zerk,  see- 
ing his  mistake,  ordered  Mr.  Stoddard  to  his 
room,  and  then  turned  his  attention  to  "the  peo- 
ple" as  we  hustled  out  the  breast  lines  and  ad- 
justed the  springs.  We  got  the  gangway  over 
in  jig  time,  to  the  great  amusement  of  the  dock 
loafers,  and  crowds  of  curious  citizens,  who  had 


IN  HONOLULU  TOWN          173 

heard  that  a  Yankee  hell  wagon  was  alongside 
with  the  bucko  mate  in  full  action. 

When  the  gangway  was  lowered,  Mr.  Stod- 
dard  walked  ashore  with  as  much  dignity  as  he 
could  muster,  garbed  in  a  wrinkled  brown  suit 
and  a  rusty,  dented  derby  that  struck  a  ludicrous 
note  amid  the  straw-hatted  natives  on  the  wharf. 

"I  hope  he  never  come  back,"  growled  Tony, 
no  doubt  thinking  of  the  day  off  the  River  Plate. 
"If  ever  I  get  him  ashore—  '  but  the  Italian 
did  not  finish,  for  we  were  hustled  about  lifting 
hatch  covers  and  setting  things  to  rights,  the  deck 
being  littered  with  long  bights  of  the  wet  haw- 
sers. 

Native  boys  offered  to  dive  for  pennies,  but 
we  had  none  to  give,  and  enterprising  Chinamen 
crowded  on  board  with  baskets  of  fruit  and  ham- 
pers full  of  bottled  pop,  the  whole  gang  being 
driven  ashore  by  Mr.  Zerk  with  his  best  delivery 
of  picturesque  profanity.  The  Kanakas  on  the 
shore  started  to  mock  him,  and  that  made  matters 
worse,  as  none  of  us  dared  crack  a  smile.  Later 
on  Mr.  Zerk  was  to  learn  that  the  happy,  care- 
free natives  were  an  independent  lot,  who  would 
work  under  persuasion,  but  were  stubborn  as 
mules  when  driven. 

Captain  Nichols  came  aboard  with  the  port 


174  UNDER  SAIL 

warden,  and  the  top  layer  of  cargo  was  examined. 
We  carried  a  hundred  tons  of  blacksmith  coal  on 
top  of  a  general  cargo,  the  coal  being  separated 
from  what  was  below  by  old  canvas  and  tar- 
paulins. One  of  the  inspectors  jumped  down  and 
tasted  the  coal  for  salt.  Indeed  it  would  have 
been  mighty  hard  to  tell  whether  the  cargo  had 
been  damaged  or  not  and,  in  a  way,  it  was  a  bit 
of  strategy  on  the  part  of  the  South  Street  steve- 
dores. After  some  discussion,  the  state  of  things 
seemed  to  pass  muster,  and  a  great  many  smart 
looking  young  men  from  the  offices  of  the  agent 
came  down  and  looked  over  the  ship.  Most  of 
them  carried  papers  of  some  sort,  and  in  their 
white  duck  trousers  and  their  fancy  silk  shirts, 
brilliant  neckties,  and  spotless  shoes,  we  seemed 
to  behold  some  favored  species.  No  doubt  they 
looked  at  us  too,  though  without  interest,  we  be- 
ing merely  a  lot  of  lean  and  leathery  deepwater 
sailors  dressed  in  common  dungaree. 

The  captain  himself  was  no  slouch  when  it 
came  to  dressing  and  on  this  occasion  he  upheld 
the  dignity  of  the  ship,  and  the  great  American 
Merchant  Service,  by  sporting  a  wine  colored 
cutaway  suit.  His  shoes  were  shined  like  the  gal- 
ley stove  on  a  Sunday  afternoon,  and  his  heavy 
watch  chain  and  fob  dangled  across  his  vest, 


IN  HONOLULU  TOWN  175 

which  was  buttoned  to  the  very  top  in  spite  of 
the  heat.  Of  course  he  wore  a  boiled  shirt,  and 
his  black  derby  was  of  a  square  topped  model, 
conservative  and  dignified. 

Inspection  over  and  the  island  steamer  out  of 
our  berth  at  the  Brewer  Wharf,  we  cast  off  and 
again  warped  our  ship  across  the  harbor.  This 


AT  BREWER'S  WHARF 

took  up  the  remainder  of  the  first  day.  The  boss 
stevedore  came  aboard  and  we  learned  that  the 
crew  was  to  work  aboard  ship,  breaking  out  and 
slinging  the  cargo.  The  "hatch  man"  and  the 
"dolly  man"  were  to  be  natives  of  the  shore 
gang;  two  important  posts,  as  upon  them  de- 
pended largely  the  speed  of  unloading. 


176  UNDER  SAIL 

Word  was  passed  forward  that  the  captain 
would  allow  those  of  us  who  wished  to,  to  draw 
against  their  pay  on  Saturday  afternoon.  In 
the  meantime,  it  being  Wednesday,  we  were 
alongside  and  free  to  explore  the  city  in  so  far  as 
such  investigation  could  be  carried  on  without 
the  expenditure  of  coin.  However  we  found  the 
Chinamen  ready  to  take  "chits"  for  modest 
amounts. 

After  pumping  out,  and  before  knocking  off 
for  supper,  the  mate  called  Charlie  Horse  aft 
and  appointed  him  night  watchman.  He  was  de- 
lighted with  this  billet,  and  except  for  a  good  deal 
of  grumbling  about  not  being  told  earlier  and 
having  a  chance  to  get  some  sleep  in  the  after- 
noon, he  was  well  pleased.  Charlie  Horse  had 
once  been  mate  on  a  schooner,  a  fact  that  he  never 
allowed  us  to  forget,  much  to  the  amusement  of 
such  men  as  Australia  and  Hitchen.  Jimmy 
Marshall  resented  all  mention  of  it  and  more  than 
once  made  cracks  about  the  kind  of  "schooner" 
Charlie  Horse  was  most  familiar  with.  Charlie 
Horse,  and  no  one  ever  forgot  the  Horse  part 
of  his  name,  which  I  believe  was  Horstman  or 
something  like  that,  never  ventured  an  opinion 
without  a  great  deal  of  deliberation,  a  trait  that 
has  much  to  recommend  it,  especially  when  at 


IN  HONOLULU  TOWN          177 

times  he  was  referred  to  during  heated  argu- 
ments. 

The  long  night  shifts  in  Honolulu  were  well 
suited  for  one  inclined  to  secluded  thinking  and 
deep  contemplation.  Besides  this,  Charlie  Horse 
was  to  have  the  laugh  on  us  after  our  second 
night  in  port. 

That  first  blessed  night  of  supreme  rest  while 
our  ship  lay  in  the  stream,  swept  by  a  cool  sea 
'breeze,  was  followed  by  a  sweltering  night  of  dis- 
content. Most  of  us  turned  in  early,  after  a  short 
stroll  ashore,  and  in  our  ignorance  of  the  cus- 
toms of  the  place,  slumbered  in  innocent  exhaus- 
tion without  a  thought  of  the  perils  of  the  night. 

Parts  of  New  Jersey  and  Long  Island  are 
noted  for  their  mosquitoes.  Alaska  is  also  some- 
what remembered  on  this  account  by  unfortu- 
nates who  have  summered  along  the  southern 
shores,  but  Honolulu  in  the  historic  year  1898 
could  boast  of  one  of  the  most  vicious  swarms  of 
torturers  lining  the  shores  of  the  seven  seas.  We 
were  ripe  for  them,  our  skins  spiced  with  the 
salt  horse  and  pea  soup  fluid  that  coursed  through 
our  veins.  We  were  tired  from  the  labors  of 
the  day,  and  slumbered  unmoved  while  the  en- 
emy put  all  that  was  exposed  of  us  to  the  bayo- 
net. I  lay  stripped  in  my  bunk  gasping  for 


ITS  UNDER  SAIL 

breath,  and  in  the  morning  found  I  was  a  mass 
of  bumps,  red  and  unsightly.  The  next  day  the 
china  merchants  along  Nuuanu  Street  did  a  big 
business  in  mosquito  bars,  supplying  us  on  the 
strength  of  our  "chits"  after  the  captain  had  veri- 
fied the  statement  that  each  man  was  to  be  paid 
five  dollars,  on  account,  at  the  end  of  the  week. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

UNLOADING — WITH  A  BIT  OF  POLITICS 

ALL  hands  working  together  made  us  better 
acquainted  with  the  men  of  the  starboard 
watch.  Axel  and  I  developed  a  lasting  friend- 
ship, and  of  course  Old  Smith  joined  the  higher 
councils  of  our  watch.  Kitchen  and  Mike  and 
Tommy  proved  to  be  a  great  team  of  kidders, 
and  with  Australia,  of  our  side,  formed  a  dandy 
quartette,  singing  such  old  time  favorites  as 
"Tom  Bowling"  and  "All  in  the  Downs." 
Hitchen,  a  very  superior  sort  of  sailor,  an  Eng- 
lishman, reticent  about  himself,  but  a  volume  of 
information  about  the  ports  of  the  world,  was  a 
great  addition  to  our  life  aboard.  In  fact  the 
men  of  both  watches  were  sea  worn  and 
tired  of  each  other,  and  we  welcomed  the  new 
contact  with  our  shipmates.  Add  to  this  the  un- 
usual sights  of  the  shore  and  the  fresh  provi- 
sions, as  well  as  the  possibility  for  rational  sleep, 
and  sailors  will  know  what  I  mean  when  I  say 
that  we  were  a  very  happy  lot  of  men  aboard 
the  Fuller. 

179 


180  UNDER  SAIL 

Scouse  had  a  large  mouth  organ,  "Made  in 
Germany,"  a  gaudy  tin  affair  well  fitted  for  his 
capacious  maw.  Tony  had  an  accordion,  and 
no  one  could  deny  that  we  were  a  lively  crowd 
forward.  On  the  other  hand  the  people  aft  were 
shrouded  in  gloom.  The  mate  lived  very  much 
alone  and  Captain  Nichols  was  separated  by 
more  than  a  bulkhead  from  his  first  officer.  Chips 
was  also  a  lonesome  figure,  dining  in  dreary  state 
at  the  second  table.  Tommy  said  that  since  the 
second  mate  had  gone,  the  Jap  boy  felt  it  be- 
neath his  dignity  to  wait  on  Chips,  and  the  lanky 
carpenter  found  the  table  set  with  all  that  he  was 
to  have  at  one  load,  soup,  meat,  dessert,  etc.  "I 
wisht  they'd  let  me  at  it  once,"  said  Joe,  his 
mouth  watering  at  the  mention  of  dessert. 

The  second  mate  did  not  return  on  board  the 
night  following  his  racket  with  the  mate,  and 
we  were  in  hopes  he  would  quit  the  ship.  Our 
wishes  were  realized,  for  the  afternoon  of  the 
second  day  in  port,  while  we  were  in  the  midst 
of  breaking  out  the  coal  in  the  main  hatch,  Mr. 
Stoddard  came  to  the  coaming  and  looked  down 
on  the  grimy  crowd  shoveling  coal.  He  carried 
a  dilapidated  satchel  and  had  evidently  been 
paid  off  by  the  skipper. 

"So  long,  you  dirty  bums!"  he  called  down, 


UNLOADING  181 

sending  a  squirt  of  tobacco  juice  into  the  midst 
of  the  coal-dust  and  sweat-covered  gang. 

Tony,  who  was  in  the  hatch,  dropped  his  round- 
nosed  shovel,  and  picking  up  a  lump  of  coal  hove 
it  at  Mr.  Stoddard,  just  missing  him  as  he  dodged 
back  from  the  coaming. 

"Wait  until  I  get  you  ashore,  you  dirty 

5= ,"  shouted  our  ex-officer,  shaking  his 

fist  at  the  hatch  as  he  ran  over  the  gangway. 

"Thank  heaven  he's  gone,"  I  remarked  to 
Frenchy,  both  of  us  looking  down  at  the  play 
from  our  perch  on  the  fore  tops'l  yard  where  we 
were  unreeving  the  downhauls. 

"A  good  thing  he's  done  with  us,  and  the  ship 
saves  thirty  dollars  a  month  while  we  are  in  port," 
was  Frenchy's  wise  comment. 

That  night  Tony  and  Tommy  went  ashore  for, 
the  purpose  of  finding  Mr.  Stoddard  and  beat- 
ing him  up.  The  ex-second  mate  was  boarding 
in  a  Chinese  house  in  Beretania  Street,  according 
to  reports  from  some  of  the  Kanakas,  and  the 
two  avengers  trailed  him  from  that  place  to  the 
Criterion  saloon. 

The  true  story  of  what  happened  was  long  ob- 
scured, for  both  Tony  and  Tommy  came  aboard 
very  late  and  turned  in  refusing  to  say  anything 
until  the  next  morning,  when  they  were  given  the 


182  UNDER  SAIL 

third  degree  by  the  exacting  masters  of  foVsle 
affairs  in  the  persons  of  Jimmy  and  Australia. 

The  stories  did  not  tally  and  for  a  long  time 
it  was  thought  that  Mr.  Stoddard  had  given  them 
more  than  they  counted  on.  The  truth  came  out 
when  Chips  told  the  yarn  to  some  cronies  on  the 
beach.  It  seems  that  Mr.  Stoddard  met  Tony 
and  Tommy  as  he  was  leaving  the  saloon.  Their 
determined  manner,  and  clenched  fists,  at  once 
warned  him  of  trouble.  With  a  knowledge  of 
sailor  psychology,  nothing  short  of  masterly,  he 
advanced  toward  them  in  true  "come  on"  style, 
greeting  them  with  a  warmth  of  cordiality  en- 
tirely unexpected,  and  a  moment  later  Tony  and 
Tommy  were  with  him  at  the  bar  drinking  im- 
ported beer  at  two  bits  a  glass,  and  wondering 
how  they  had  ever  been  so  mistaken  in  him. 

No  doubt  Mr.  Stoddard  would  have  got  his 
licking  had  he  remained  in  port,  but  we  learned 
that  he  shipped  before  the  mast  on  the  bark 
W.  H.  Dimond  bound  for  San  Francisco. 

A  day  at  the  coal  got  us  rid  of  that  objection- 
able part  of  the  cargo,  and  when  we  took  up  the 
tarpaulins  we  found  a  large  consignment  of  case 
oil  filling  most  of  the  'tween  decks.  Case  oil, 
let  it  be  known,  is  kerosene  in  large  square  cans, 
packed  two  in  a  case,  and  nicely  calculated  as 


UNLOADING  183 

to  weight  so  that  a  good  husky  sailor  man  can 
just  about  lift  one  of  them  without  straining 
himself  too  much.  However,  I  can  vouch  for  the 
fact  that  these  cases  are  very  hard  to  handle  and 
get  heavier  and  heavier  as  the  exercise  is  con- 
tinued. 

The  stevedores  ashore,  so  we  learned  later, 
were  Republicans,  a  jolly  lot  of  progressive  Ka- 
nakas, demons  for  work  and  constantly  chatter- 
ing like  crazy  brown  magpies.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  donkey  crew,  the  man  at  the  dolly,  and 
the  hatch  man,  a  lively  Kanaka  named  Nigger, 
were  Royalists  of  the  bluest  strain  compatible 
with  their  swarthy  complexions.  The  Royalists 
did  their  level  best  to  send  the  case  oil  out  on 
the  wharf  so  fast  that  the  lowly  Republicans 
could  not  handle  it.  Below  decks,  in  the  stifling 
heat,  we  labored  in  gangs,  running  the  cases  to 
the  square  of  the  hatch  from  two  sides,  while  Old 
Smith  and  Frenchy  adjusted  the  slings  about  the 
stacks  of  twelve  cases  and  up  they  would  shoot. 
It  seemed  that  the  cargo  hook  was  constantly 
dangling  in  the  hatch  like  a  hungry  black  worm 
while  that  demon  Nigger  raised  a  hell  of  sweat 
and  hurry  with  his  constant  shouting  to  "Hook 
her  up!  Hook  her  up!"  and  every  few  minutes 


184  UNDER  SAIL 

the  mate  would  bend  over  the  hatch  and  roar 
down  his  bit  of  encouragement. 

My  job  was  to  help  hand  the  cases  down  from 
the  tiers,  lifting  them  to  small  trucks  upon  which 
we  rushed  them  to  the  hatch  opening.  A  half 
day  of  this  exertion  found  us  pretty  well  blown, 
and  when  the  noon  whistle  sounded  over  the  har- 
bor we  got  on  deck,  bolted  our  dinner  and 
stretched  out  on  anything  that  was  handy  and 
relaxed.  Some  of  the  boys  slept,  but  I  was  too 
sore  to  sleep  and  had  a  feeling  that  it  was  better 
to  stay  awake,  anyhow,  as  the  rest  would  seem 
longer. 

When  we  turned  to  at  one  o'clock  the  gang  on 
the  wharf  started  to  howl  defiance  at  Nigger  and 
his  men,  and  the  cruel  ball  began  again  with  the 
mate,  as  king  driver,  egging  along  the  perform- 
ance. Being  rid  of  the  second  mate  and  with  the 
captain  ashore,  he  was  thoroughly  enjoying  him- 
self. 

The  cases  of  oil  were  hard  to  grab  hold  of,  and 
as  I  have  said,  got  heavier  and  heavier  as  the 
weary  day  advanced.  Cursing  and  sweating  in 
hot  'tween  deck,  we  strove  like  mad  to  keep  up 
our  end  of  the  fight. 

"Don't  let  them  niggers  beat  us,"  shouted 
Brenden,  as  he  dug  in  with  renewed  energy,  the 


UNLOADING  185 

sweat  dripping  into  his  eyes  as  he  began  slinging 
down  the  cases  like  a  madman. 

"The  dirty  black  bastards!"  shouted  Jimmy. 
"I  hopes  they  croaks  afore  I  sees  the  last  o'  this 
place." 

By  the  time  the  afternoon  was  half  over  my 
arms  and  back  were  numb  with  pain.  I  had 
ceased  to  sweat  and  every  effort  was  made  by 
super-force  of  will.  We  were  red-eyed  with  the 
labor  and  the  heat ;  swearing  had  ceased,  and  we 
plugged  along  doggedly  as  the  damnable  Nigger 
kept  up  his  constant  bawling  to  "Hook  her  up!" 
or  "Liki!  Liki!"  (meaning  "the  same"). 

Frenchy,  who  was  under  the  hatch,  suddenly 
brought  us  to  our  senses.  "Rain,  boys!  Rain!" 
he  shouted. 

In  our  torture  we  had  not  noticed  how  dark 
it  was  getting,  and  when  the  first  large  cool  drops 
pattered  down  on  the  'tween  deck  hatches  cov- 
ering the  cargo  in  the  hold,  we  knew  that  relief 
was  at  hand.  A  minute  more  and  the  rain  came 
down  in  tropical  torrents  while  we  struggled  to 
get  the  big  strongback  into  place,  the  hatch  covers 
on,  and  the  tarpaulin  spread.  Our  black  tor- 
mentors had  fled  to  cover  under  a  nearby  shed, 
and  the  donkey  engine  crew  were  drawing  the  fire 
from  beneath  their  boiler.  Nigger,  too,  had  dis- 


186  UNDER  SAIL 

appeared,  for  Scouse  came  up  determined  to 
take  a  fall  out  of  "that  black  -  -." 

To  say  that  we  were  thankful  for  the  rain  is 
mild;  we  were  saved  by  it,  nothing  less,  and  as 
we  went  to  the  fo'c'sle  that  night  we  were  as 
badly  beaten  a  lot  of  men  as  ever  cumbered  the 
port  of  Honolulu. 

"Say,  Smith!"  yelled  Joe,  shouting  through 
the  partition  that  separated  the  fo'c'sles. 

"Well,  what  do  you  want?" 

"You  was  right  when  you  said  sum  thin'  about 
me  workin'  here." 

"I  told  you  you'd  sweat,  didn't  I?"  shouted 
back  Old  Smith. 

"Say,  Smith,"  in  a  chastened  tone. 

"Yes?" 

"Was  you  sweatin',  too?" 

"Shut  up!  Shut  up!"  cried  Jimmy  in  alarm. 
"If  you  wants  to  start  a  fight,  do  it  tomorrow, 
an'  let  your  betters  get  some  rest." 


CHAPTER  XV 

HAWAIIAN  HOSPITALITY 

ON  a  fateful  Saturday  night,  the  one  when 
we  drew  five  dollars  apiece  against  our 
payday,  Peter,  the  boy,  and  I  decided  to  go 
ashore  and  have  our  hair  cut  by  a  regular  barber 
and  then  indulge  in  the  pleasure  of  a  luxurious 
bath  with  plenty  of  soap  and  a  good  big  tub  of 
hot  water.  After  the  hair  cut  the  bath — and  this 
took  us  to  a  Japanese  establishment  that  was 
conducted  upon  true  oriental  lines.  As  a  bath 
house  it  was  Al,  but  in  addition  to  the  supply  of 
hot  water,  which  was  drawn  by  a  female  attend- 
ant, I  found  that  she  (the  attendant)  was  ready 
to  remain  and  assist  in  the  scrubbing.  Being  of 
a  modest  turn  of  mind  myself,  and  unable  to  con- 
verse with  this  would-be  helper,  I  finally  made 
known  my  desire  for  her  removal  by  pushing  her 
through  the  door.  The  floor  was  slippery  and  in 
my  embarrassment  I  may  have  given  her  too 
hearty  a  shove,  for  she  lost  her  footing  and  shot 
out  in  a  most  undignified  manner,  "cutting  the 

187 


188  UNDER  SAIL 

star"  as  we  used  to  call  it  when  skating.  Peals 
of  laughter  sounded  through  the  flimsy  walls,  the 
Japs  taking  the  whole  thing  in  good  part. 

However,  in  the  native  Japanese  quarter,  this 
sort  of  thing  was  considered  proper,  and,  as  I 
afterward  learned  more  of  the  Japanese,  while  in 
their  islands,  I  found  that  it  was  all  a  simple  mat- 
ter of  point  of  view  and  nothing  at  all  extraor- 
dinary. 

Of  Peter  a  great  deal  might  be  said.  He  was 
a  type  of  the  young  American  who  will,  when 
circumstances  force  him  into  it,  go  to  sea.  How- 
ever, I  have  only  touched  upon  him  lightly,  as  he 
in  no  way  represented  that  bygone  breed  of  sailor 
that  made  history  on  the  hard  square  riggers  of 
that  day. 

Peter  had  a  delightful  voice  that  passed  in 
Honolulu  in  lieu  of  real  coin,  at  least  among  the 
Kanakas,  where  his  wit  and  general  good  nature 
won  him  many  friends.  We  attended  a  luau  up 
in  the  Nuuanu  Valley,  a  real  native  feast  where 
we  were  received  royally  because  of  the  high  re- 
gard in  which  Peter  was  held  by  the  Kanakas. 
Poi,  one  finger  stuff,  and  none  of  your  poverty 
stricken  watery  three  and  two  finger  poi  of  the 
stevedores  and  little  island  traders,  was  on  the 
bill  of  fare.  Pork,  fish,  and  fruits  of  all  kinds 


HAWAIIAN  HOSPITALITY      189 

afforded  by  the  islands  were  served  to  us  on 
ti  leaves,  while  swipes  flowed  freely. 

Peter  sang  "Hawaii  Ponoi"  over  and  over 
again  with  our  hosts,  and  we  wound  up  late  at 
night  with  the  native  girls  dancing  the  Hula 
Hula.  All  very  decent,  of  course,  but  calculated 
to  impress  one  with  the  broader  range  of  vision 
accorded  simple  strangers  traveling  in  that  land 
of  song  and  sunshine  when  without  the  stodgy 
hall  mark  of  smug  respectability  to  hamper  them 
in  their  enjoyment.  Peter  astonished  the  natives 
by  sleight  of  hand  tricks  with  a  pack  of  worn 
playing  cards,  and  before  we  left  them  had  dated 
us  up  for  another  engagement.  My  head  the 
following  morning  was  something  to  be  remem- 
bered with  respect,  and  I  swore  off  all  further  in- 
dulgence in  the  Kanaka's  wonderful  hospitality. 

On  board,  our  routine  became  more  established. 
After  the  consignment  of  case  oil  was  put  over, 
we  found  the  work  less  trying  and  were  better 
able  to  meet  it  as  we  accustomed  ourselves  to  the 
new  labor,  although  the  Republican-Royalist 
feud  continued  to  the  end  of  our  stay.  In  the 
main  hold,  directly  below  the  hatch,  we  carried 
a  locomotive  boiler.  Getting  this  overboard  called 
for  some  seamanship  on  the  part  of  the  mate. 
He  strengthened  the  main  yard  support  by  extra 


190  UNDER  SAIL 

tackles,  and  hoisted  the  fish  fall  up  to  the  cargo 
pendant,  which  in  turn  was  backed  by  several 
parts  of  wire  rope.  The  yard  purchase  was  re- 
placed by  a  fourfold  tackle  rove  off  with  new  gear. 
Once  ready,  we  sent  the  boiler  over  the  side  in 
good  style,  setting  it  squarely  on  a  flat  car. 

While  this  special  gear  for  getting  over  the 
heavy  freight  was  being  rigged,  the  remaining 
running  gear  of  the  braces  was  unrove,  coiled  and 
marked  for  stowing  while  old  stuff  was  sent  up 
to  take  its  place,  as  all  such  untarred  rope  deteri- 
orates rapidly  when  exposed  to  the  dust  of  the 
port  for  any  length  of  time.  Following  the  dis- 
charge of  the  boiler  we  roused  out  a  large  num- 
ber of  cases  of  heavy  machinery,  all  to  be  assem- 
bled as  a  complete  locomotive.  The  Fuller  was 
stowed  with  a  very  mixed  cargo,  her  manifest 
containing  every  kind  of  agricultural  and  house- 
hold implement  imaginable.  Castle  and  Cook,  a 
large  importing  house  in  the  Islands,  got  a  lot  of 
our  cargo  and  as  we  would  unload  a  consignment 
of  stuff  for  them  they  would  run  an  advertise- 
ment in  the  daily  papers— 

CASTLE  AND  COOK,  Large  assortment 
of  the  best  fruit  jars  with  patent  screw  tops 
just  received  from  the  States  by  Ship  A.  J. 
Fuller. 


HAWAIIAN  HOSPITALITY     191 

Had  we  been  wrecked  on  a  desert  island,  our 
freight  would  have  set  us  up  as  a  very  respectable 
lot  of  Robinson  Crusoes,  for  we  brought  the  most 
general  of  general  cargoes. 

After  a  week  in  port,  my  mosquito  mottled 
face  having  subsided  to  normal,  I  presented  a 
letter  of  introduction  to  Mr.  William  H.  Mc- 
Inerny,  at  his  place  of  business  on  Fort  Street. 
Mr.  Mclnerny,  his  mother,  sister  and  brothers, 
were  most  kind  to  me,  and  I  enjoyed  their  hos- 
pitality with  an  appreciation  made  extra  keen  by 
the  life  of  the  ship.  Clean  table  linen  and  all  of 
the  ordinary  necessities  of  civilized  existence 
seemed  extra  good.  On  the  other  hand  I  had 
sense  enough  to  appreciate  the  life  aboard  ship. 
This  was  never  dull,  and  was  soon  destined  to 
become  particularly  strenuous. 

Mr.  Mclnerny  called  for  me  frequently  of  a 
Sunday  and  took  me  driving  behind  a  pair  of 
fast  horses.  His  first  appearance  on  the  ship 
aroused  the  gravest  sort  of  suspicions  in  the  mind 
of  the  mate.  He  eyed  me  critically  when  I  went 
ashore  in  my  best  Sunday  suit,  pressed  the  night 
before  by  a  Chinaman  on  Nuuanu  Street.  As 
we  drove  off,  so  Peter  told  me  afterward,  the 
mate  shook  his  head  as  much  as  to  say,  "Another 
young  fellow  gone  wrong." 


192  UNDER  SAIL 

The  next  morning  there  was  considerable  cold- 
ness in  the  manner  of  the  mate,  but  nothing  ac- 
tively malignant.  He  gave  me  no  harder  work 
to  do  than  before,  but  he  did  not  condescend  to  his 
customary  gruff  camaraderie. 

When  Mr.  Mdnerny  called  for  me  again  on 
the  following  Sunday  with  a  different  rig  and 
another  pair  of  high  steppers,  Mr.  Zerk  became 
thoroughly  disgusted.  On  Monday  he  called  me 
aft  just  before  we  turned  to  after  the  washdown, 
and  made  some  very  sarcastic  remarks  about  my 
"dude  friend." 

"I  suppose  you  will  be  getting  out  of  the  ship?" 
he  ventured. 

"I  have  never  thought  of  getting  out,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"Well,  I  was  just  thinking  that  you  might 
have  a  chance  to  get  out.  Maybe  your  friends 
with  their  horses  and  carriages  would  not  like  to 
see  you  working  too  hard." 

"I  suppose  they  would  hate  to  see  me  work 
hard,  seeing  what  an  easy  time  I  am  having  now." 

"Damn  your  hide,  they  will  hate  to  see  you 
work  before  I  get  through  with  you.    Call  that 
thick  ass  Scouse  aft  and  that  - 
Joe." 

When  these  unfortunates  arrived  they  found 


HAWAIIAN  HOSPITALITY      193 

Mr.  Zerk  under  a  heavy  pressure  of  bottled-up 
wrath.  The  whole  silly  business  had  so  exas- 
perated him  that  he  fairly  sizzled  with  madness. 
Heretofore  his  outbursts  were  mostly  impersonal, 
at  least  they  always  seemed  so  to  me;  merely  a 
part  of  the  day's  work.  We  were  now  turned 
over  to  Chips  and  found  that  he  had  received  in- 
structions to  clean  out  the  limbers  of  the  ship, 
starting  in  the  fore  peak  and  working  aft  as  the 
bottom  of  the  hold  was  uncovered.  From  that 
time  on  until  the  ship  was  discharged  I  was  kept 
at  the  most  disgusting  work  of  the  voyage. 
Bucket  after  bucket  of  a  thick  sludge,  the  results 
of  a  previous  voyage  to  the  Orient,  when  the 
Fuller  loaded  some  filthy  cargo  in  Hong  Kong, 
was  lifted  out.  Of  course  she  was  never  cleaned 
in  New  York,  where  the  crew  was  always  dis- 
charged as  soon  as  the  hook  went  down,  and  no 
longshore  laborer  would  do  the  work  we  were 
set  to. 

After  three  days  of  this  Joe  said  to  me  as  we 
came  up  out  of  the  hold  covered  with  filth:  "Here 
is  where  I  quits.  To  hell  with  this.  That  rotten 
bull  aft  thinks  he  can  work  anything  off  on  us. 
Some  may  be  soft  an'  easy,  but,"  and  here  Joe 
came  in  strong,  "I  can  get  thirty  dollars  a  month 


194  UNDER  SAIL 

in  the  coasters,  an'  I  won't  be  leavin'  much.  To 
hell  with  the  rotten  skunk,  says  I." 

That  night  Joe  found  a  chance  to  go  out  on 
the  barkentine  Irmgard  due  to  sail  in  two  days 
for  San  Francisco.  Like  most  of  the  craft  trad- 
ing to  the  Islands  from  the  coast,  the  Irmgard 
was  glad  to  pick  up  a  deepwater  sailor.  Joe 
agreed  to  work  his  passage  to  Frisco  and  would 
then  sign  on  regularly  before  the  U.  S.  Commis- 
sioner. Joe  wanted  Scouse  to  join  him  but  the 
big  fellow  shook  his  head  as  Joe  urged  him,  dur- 
ing the  next  two  days  down  in  the  bilge  dirt. 
All  conversation  on  the  subject  of  Joe's  depar- 
ture was  taboo  in  the  fo'c'sle,  though  Joe  worked 
hard  to  have  Scouse  join  him,  even  going  so  far 
as  to  see  that  it  would  be  all  right  for  him  to 
ship  in  Frisco. 

"No,  Choe,  I  don't  do  no  more  pilge  cleaning 
when  I  ged  back.  Dere  ain't  no  rotten  pilges 
on  farms,  ant  you  never  knows  what  rotten  back- 
ets you  ship  on.  I  stand  dis  ant,  den,  no  more." 

The  night  that  Joe  left  we  got  his  clothes 
ashore  over  the  bow.  All  he  had  was  a  round  bot- 
tomed sailor's  trunk — a  canvas  bag.  Joe  was  a 
favorite  with  all  of  us,  and  his  bag  bulked  large 
with  parting  gifts  of  clothing.  In  addition  to 
this  we  all  chipped  in,  at  the  suggestion  of  Old 


HAWAIIAN  HOSPITALITY      195 

Smith,  and  at  a  tarpaulin  muster,  though  it  was 
near  the  end  of  the  week,  we  managed  to  find  five 
dollars.  Let  it  here  be  said  that  after  the  first 
generous  advance  of  five  each,  the  Captain  cut 
us  down  to  two  dollars  each  week,  and  held  down 
on  the  slop  chest.  Of  course  five  dollars  was  out 
of  the  question,  as  the  pay  per  month  was  only 
eighteen. 

Also,  in  the  details  of  Joe's  departure  we  had 
to  keep  everything  from  Charlie  Horse.  As 
watchman  he  would  undoubtedly  be  blamed  for 
not  reporting  the  desertion.  As  it  was,  Charlie 
Horse  was  given  a  hard  call  by  Captain  Nichols, 
and  later  on  he  thanked  us  for  keeping  him  in  the 
dark.  Charlie  was  a  decent  sort  and  said  he  was 
glad  he  did  not  have  to  lie  about  the  affair  when 
called  aft. 

"Joe's  going,"  Frenchy  whispered  this  to  me. 
It  was  near  midnight  and  Joe  had  returned  as 
he  promised,  after  depositing  his  dunnage  in  the 
f o'c'sle  of  the  Irmgard,  only  a  few  wharves  away. 

"Good-by,  boys." 

"So  long,  Choe.  Goot-luck.  Goot  py,"  the 
last  from  Scouse.  Joe  slid  down  one  of  the  bow- 
lines and  we  watched  his  dark  figure  walking 
along  the  wharves.  Under  a  street  lamp  on  Nuu- 


196 


UNDER  SAIL 


C  WJ*4_  tt*Mv  rv 


HAWAIIAN  HOSPITALITY      197 

anu  Street  Joe  waved  back  at  us  on  the  strength 
that  we  were  watching  him. 

We  all  felt  sorry  to  lose  Joe.  Scouse  was  es- 
pecially gloomy  over  his  departure,  and  I  missed 
the  happy-go-lucky  fellow  in  our  work  below. 

Next  morning  when  Joe  failed  to  show  up  at 
the  wash  down,  Mr.  Zerk  was  furious.  Charlie 
Horse  came  in  for  a  round  of  abuse  and  all  hands 
in  general  were  cursed  fore  and  aft  and  athwart- 
ship.  In  it  all  I  seemed  to  detect  a  certain  note 
of  insincerity.  In  fact  the  mate  was  glad  that 
Joe  had  left ;  it  seemed  to  please  him  that  the  drill 
in  the  limbers  was  tough  enough  to  have  had  that 
result. 

No  one  was  assigned  to  take  Joe's  place,  but 
after  a  week  of  it  Scouse  was  relieved  and  Tony 
became  my  partner  in  filth. 

"I  suppose  we  will  have  other  deserters,"  said 
the  mate,  coming  down  and  looking  us  over.  His 
words  were  evidently  intended  for  me. 

"I  don't  think  so,  sir.  Scouse  doesn't  mind  this 
a  bit,"  which  was  a  foolish  remark,  but  at  least 
resulted  in  giving  the  red  head  a  relief. 

I  kept  fit  by  getting  up  an  hour  earlier  each 
morning  than  the  rest  of  the  crowd  and  taking 
a  plunge  overboard  as  a  bracer,  swimming  about 
the  ship.  In  the  evening,  being  too  dirty  to  give 


198  UNDER  SAIL 

a  hand  in  pumping  out,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  a 
plunge  into  the  cool  waters  before  supper.  I 
always  washed  out  my  dungarees  as  soon  as  I 
came  up,  and  alternated,  leaving  the  ones  last 
worn  to  have  a  good  sunning. 

Captain  Nichols  saw  me  one  noon  looking 
rather  dirty.  He  may  have  remarked  the  fact 
that  he  had  seen  me  in  the  same  state  some  ten 
days  before,  when  the  grind  first  started. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  he  asked. 

"Cleaning  out  the  limbers,  sir." 

"How  do  you  like  it?"  grinning. 

"Fine;  wish  the  ship  had  four  instead  of  two, 


sir." 


This  seemed  to  tickle  the  old  man,  and  what- 
ever he  did  I  don't  know,  but  the  next  day  the 
mate  came  below  and  lifted  a  horrible  fuss  about 
the  way  things  were  dragging,  with  Chips  at  his 
heels  saying  "Yes,  sir,  yes,  sir,"  so  fast  that  the 
mate  turned  on  him  and  asked  him  if  he  had  St. 
Vitus's  dance.  "Yes,  sir,"  answered  Chips,  before 
he  realized  his  mistake.  "Well,  then,  get  the  hell 
out  of  here  and  let  me  finish  this."  Four  extra 
men  were  sent  down  and  the  job  cleaned  up  the 
next  day. 

I  was  mighty  glad  when  the  drill  was  over,  for 
to  tell  the  truth  my  health  was  beginning  to  suf- 


HAWAIIAN  HOSPITALITY      199 

fer  from  the  nasty  grind  and  the  constant  breath- 
ing of  foul  air.  In  the  fo'c'sle,  too,  the  boys  were 
more  than  decent  about  it.  "Well,  you  stuck  it 
out,"  was  the  opinion. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

HONOLULU  OF  THE  OLD  DAYS 

HONOLULU  harbor  in  1898  retained  more 
than  a  trace  of  its  old  time  flavor  of  ro- 
mance. In  later  years,  when  I  again  visited  the 
port,  the  improvements  had  entirely  eliminated 
many  old  landmarks  that  spoke  so  clearly  of  the 
historic  past.  At  the  time  we  were  there  in  the 
Fuller,  the  remains  of  the  hulk  that  once  was  the 
famous,  or  perhaps  I  should  say  infamous,  Ha- 
waiian man  o'  war,  Kaimiloa,  lay  bedded  in  the 
mud  flats  at  the  delta  of  the  Nuuanu  River,  a  shal- 
low part  of  the  harbor  between  the  railroad  wharf 
and  the  waterfront  of  the  city. 

The  Kaimiloa,  a  vessel  of  170  tons,  had  once 
been  called  the  Explorer,  and  was  then  engaged 
in  the  copra  trade.  King  Kalakaua  purchased 
her  (she  was  a  wooden  steamer,  by  the  way)  for 
$20,000,  and  had  her  refitted  as  a  ship  of  war.  On 
the  17th  of  May,  1887,  she  was  dispatched  to 
Samoa  to  strengthen  the  hands  of  the  embassy. 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson  wrote,  "The  history  of 

200 


HONOLULU  OF  THE  OLD  DAYS    201 

the  Kaimiloa  is  a  story  of  debauchery,  intrigues, 
and  waste  of  government  property." 

On  this  memorable  cruise  she  was  under  the 
command  of  a  half -pay  British  naval  officer  who 
must  have  been  possessed  of  a  keen  sense  of  hu- 
mor. "The  Primacy  of  the  Pacific"  was  King 
Kalakaua's  dream,  and  the  H.  M.  S.  Kaimiloa 
was  the  apple  of  his  eye.  Her  armament,  so  far  as 
I  could  find  out,  consisted  mainly  of  a  heavy  sil- 
ver service  boasting  several  large  caliber  punch 
bowls.  In  every  way  she  was  appointed  with 
a  view  to  the  pleasure  of  the  monarch. 

In  Samoa  she  got  into  difficulties.  German 
men  o'  war  in  the  port  refused  to  recognize  her 
colors,  or  return  her  salute,  and  she  finally  de- 
parted, returning  to  Honolulu  by  way  of  Pago 
Pago  (what's  in  a  name?),  where  her  half -pay 
commander  exchanged  her  small  arms  for  gin, 
and  had  a  month's  debauch,  as  a  sort  of  bracer, 
before  reporting  home  to  the  Kanaka  Admiralty. 
This  cruise  is  said  to  have  disgusted  King  Kala- 
kaua  with  his  navy,  and  further  support  was 
withdrawn.  What  became  of  the  silver  service, 
the  armament,  or  the  half-pay  commander,  can- 
not be  recorded  by  the  writer. 

The  forlorn  remnant  of  this  royal  hulk,  with 
planks  bleaching  in  the  sun,  centered  upon  an 


202  UNDER  SAIL 

interesting  sector  of  the  harbor.  Here  in  the 
shallow  weed-grown  water  numerous  native 
women,  wearing  extremely  proper  Mother  Hub- 
bard  wrappers  (when  dry),  were  always  fishing 
industriously.  No  lines  or  nets  were  used,  but 
the  finny  unfortunates  were  caught  between  the 
toes  of  the  fishers.  The  fact  that  the  natives  of 
the  islands  relish  live  fish  only  added  to  the  fas- 
cination with  which  we  observed  their  operations. 
The  harbor  was  also  the  scene  of  much  active 
fishing  by  the  Japanese,  who  employed  a  seine 
and  several  small  sampans.  So  changed  was  all 
this  when  the  writer  returned  to  Honolulu,  some 
eight  years  later,  that  it  was  with  a  pang  of  re- 
gret he  recalled  those  old  romantic,  inefficient 
days. 

Not  far  from  the  Fuller  was  the  berth  of  the 
Morning  Star.  We  could  look  over  her  decks 
as  our  ship  rose  higher  with  the  discharge  of  her 
cargo.  This  famous  missionary  craft  was  a 
yacht-like  three-masted  schooner  with  auxiliary 
steam,  the  mizzen  being  built  of  steel  and  serving 
her  as  a  funnel.  The  comings  and  goings  of  the 
missionary  folk,  male  and  female,  for  they  bus- 
ied themselves  mightily  on  board  the  pretty  craft, 
furnished  us  with  something  to  look  and  wonder 
at  when  we  were  not  otherwise  engaged  on  board. 


HONOLULU  OF  THE  OLD  DAYS    203 

We  established  friendly  relations  with  her 
crew,  meeting  some  of  them  ashore  at  the  con- 
certs. Frenchy  made  the  acquaintance  of  her 
cook  and  the  "  doctor"  presented  him  with  a  can 
of  curry  powder.  But  no  matter  how  friendly  the 
crew  of  the  Morning  Star  might  be  when  ashore, 
they  were  careful  to  never  go  aboard  the  Fuller; 
also  the  moral  atmosphere  of  this  vessel  was  so 
strong  that  it  pervaded  the  clothing  of  the  whole 
ship's  company,  for  none  of  them  ever  was  seen 
in  any  of  the  barrooms  frequented  by  sailors. 
However,  Peter  had  met  them  while  attending 
lauas  and  they  were  as  fond  of  swipes  as  the  next 
man,  quite  human,  even  to  the  extent  of  getting 
gloriously  drunk. 

One  class  of  visitors  on  board  the  Morning 
Star,  who  seemed  in  the  majority,  were  the  army 
officers.  And  by  the  word  "army"  as  generally 
used  in  the  capital  of  the  Hawaiian  Republic 
at  that  time,  was  meant  the  Salvation  Army. 
The  Salvationists  were  very  influential  in  affairs 
along  the  waterfront.  We  had  been  in  port  about 
a  week  when  their  advance  guard  came  over  our 
rail,  sort  of  spiritual  Uhlans  descending  upon  us, 
after  dusk,  as  we  sat  about  between  the  time  of 
clearing  away  the  supper  kids  and  lighting  our 
pipes  for  a  stroll  ashore.  And  let  it  here  be  said 


204  UNDER  SAIL 

that  whatever  good  they  may  do  in  other  fields, 
and  there  is  no  denying  this,  they  were  working 
in  ground  already  fairly  moral  when  they 
boarded  the  Fuller.  My  observation  has  been 
that  the  moral  index,  if  I  may  coin  a  term, 
is  inversely  proportional  to  the  amount  of  work. 
Hard  workers,  physical  and  mental,  are  as  a  rule 
fairly  moral. 

On  the  ship  Fuller  was  gathered  at  that  time 
as  decent  a  lot  of  men  as  ever  sailed  the  seas. 
I  have  listened  to  more  obscenity  in  a  short  space 
of  time  among  men  who  held  themselves  edu- 
cated than  fouled  our  ears  during  the  whole  voy- 
age about  which  I  am  writing.  For  one  thing, 
we  always  had  something  interesting  to  talk 
about,  and  our  few  leisure  hours  were  too  pre- 
cious to  throw  away. 

The  head  scouts  of  the  army  were  no  doubt  at- 
tracted by  the  rather  cheerful  noises  coming  from 
our  band,  an  organization  making  use  of  all  the 
typical  sailor  instruments,  the  accordion,  several 
mouth  organs,  a  jew's-harp,  and  a  drum  made 
by  Jimmy  Marshall  out  of  a  small  paint  keg 
with  canvas  stretched  on  both  ends.  The  mis- 
sioners  from  the  good  ship  Morning  Star  were 
very  much  interested,  no  doubt  scenting  talent 
for  their  concerts,  and  the  party  came  aboard 


HONOLULU  OF  THE  OLD  DAYS    205 

on  what  might  be  called  a  cutting  out  expedi- 
tion. 

"Yes,  we  were  getting  lots  to  eat."  "No,  the 
ship  was  not  particularly  hard.  The  captain  was 
all  right."  "Yes,  the  mate  did  swear  a  lot;  in 
fact  he  was  a  bad  man,  but  we  had  seen  worse." 
"Yes,  the  life  of  a  sailor  is  a  hard  one.  We  all 
liked  Honolulu.  Etc.  Etc."  Old  Smith  had 
the  party  in  tow,  and  acted  as  spokesman  while 
the  parley  was  going  on.  Jimmy  in  the  mean- 
time buzzed  around,  all  eagerness  to  get  in  his 
fine  work  at  panning  the  ship,  the  grub,  and 
everything  else. 

One  of  the  visitors  noticed  this.  He  was  a  tall 
thin  man  wearing  the  fatigue  uniform  of  nothing 
less  than  a  Major,  and  was  evidently  a  student 
of  the  genus  sailor,  that  is,  a  student  of  the  sailor 
man  going  through  his  paces  ashore;  a  down 
trodden  unfortunate,  sleeping  in  a  bunk  innocent 
of  woven  wire  springs,  without  clean  linen  sheets, 
and  having  to  wash  himself  in  a  common  deck 
bucket,  all  of  which  of  course  is  true  enough. 
The  tall  man  was  drawn  aside  by  Jimmy,  his 
grizzled  monkey  face  working  like  a  nutcracker. 
Jimmy  talked  to  such  good  purpose  that  the  tall 
army  officer  handed  him  a  card  and  asked  him  to 
call  when  ashore.  Our  band  then  struck  up,  and 


206  UNDER  SAIL 

nobody  could  help  but  notice  that  Jimmy  Mar- 
shall was  a  most  proficient  drummer. 

The  upshot  of  this  was  that  a  week  later  Jim- 
my took  to  his  bunk  sick.  "Contusion  of  the 
liver/'  he  called  it.  "Too  much  work  an'  the 
rotten  grub  'as  got  me  at  last."  There  was 
much  groaning  in  his  bunk,  and  when  Captain 
Nichols  looked  him  over  he  shook  his  head. 

The  following  day  several  army  authorities 
came  aboard  to  visit  Jimmy,  a  mighty  fine  look- 
ing captain  among  them,  for  we  all  admired  her. 
Two  days  after  this  Jimmy  rose  from  his  bunk 
with  great  effort  and  went  aft  while  the  captain 
paid  him  off.  Kanakas  came  aboard  for  his  dun- 
nage, and  Jimmy  Marshall  joined  the  Salvation 
Army.  We  saw  him  on  the  corner  of  Fort  and 
Hotel  Streets  soon  afterward  beating  a  brand- 
new  drum  and  utterly  ignoring  us.  How  the 
army  did  it  remained  a  mystery  until  a  young 
man  from  Brewer's  office  let  fall  the  hint  that 
army  influence  was  exerted  through  the  agents. 
Whatever  it  was,  it  worked,  and  for  many  a  day 
we  missed  Jimmy.  His  "beef"  on  a  rope  was  neg- 
ligible, but  he  was  clever  at  every  sailor  art  and 
his  singing  was  in  a  class  by  itself. 

Scouse  summed  up  the  fo'c'sle  opinion  when 
he  said,  "Dot's  a  smart  feller,  dot  Chimmy." 


HONOLULU  OF  THE  OLD  DAYS    207 

While  the  efforts  of  the  Salvation  Army  were 
directed  with  vigor  and  enjoyed  the  support  of 
the  powers  that  were  in  the  city,  the  devil  was 
also  well  represented  in  the  thriving  little  nest 
of  humanity,  way  out  there  in  the  middle  of  the 
Pacific.  This  was  before  the  time  of  the  great 
fire  that  swept  away  the  Japanese  quarter,  and 
before  the  yoshiwara  had  been  established.  Sa- 
loons had  a  pleasant  ingenuous  fashion  of  ad- 
vertising in  the  daily  papers.  Such  items  as, 
"Drink  at  the  Criterion  Saloon,"  "Visit  the 
Louvre  Saloon,  for  your  rickeys,"  were  displayed 
in  bold  type.  Intoxicated  men  reeled  along  the 
streets  at  night  in  the  region  bordering  the  water- 
front, and  assaults  of  various  kinds  were  not  in- 
frequent. All  nations  were  represented  in  the 
motley  crew  who  formed  the  floating  cosmopoli- 
tan conglomeration  drifting  about  the  port.  The 
new  republic  being  the  eddy  in  the  middle  of  the 
transpacific  lanes  where  human  flotsam  gravi- 
tated, like  Hong  Kong  and  Port  Said,  it  had 
become  a  nodal  point  of  adventure. 

Of  course  Honolulu  itself  rose  serene  and 
beautiful  above  this  mess  of  wreckage  that 
washed  up  on  her  beach.  Beautiful  homes  were 
there,  on  the  long  avenues  lined  by  royal  palms, 
set  in  fine  grounds,  bordered  by  hibiscus  hedges 


208  UNDER  SAIL 

alive  with  flaming  red.  The  date  palm  and  the 
fan  palm  all  added  to  the  natural  beauty  sur- 
rounding her  public  buildings  and  her  dwellings. 
The  solid  worth  of  the  place  far  outweighed  the 
ribald  doings  of  the  beach  combers,  not  all  of 
them,  let  it  be  said,  in  dungaree.  Well-dressed  ad- 
venturers were  even  more  numerous,  and  no 
doubt  far  more  dangerous,  than  the  unattached 
sailors  of  the  port. 

The  life  in  the  Chinese  and  Japanese  quar- 
ters, with  their  hundreds  of  small  shops  supply- 
ing the  modest  needs  of  their  countrymen,  was 
most  interesting  to  us.  In  fact  we  were  com- 
pelled to  do  most  of  our  trading  with  these  mer- 
chants, as  two  dollars  per  week  was  of  little  ac- 
count in  attempting  to  go  shopping  on  Fort 
Street  in  the  American  or  English  stores.  As 
for  having  a  regular  blowout,  with  drinks  of 
civilization,  at  two  bits  per  glass,  it  was  simply 
not  to  be  thought  of.  Watermelons,  bananas, 
pineapples,  soda  pop,  and  ginger  ale  were  our 
refreshments  after  an  evening  spent  at  the  con- 
cert in  Emma  Square,  or  Thomas  Square,  and 
very  often  I  went  to  a  small  Chinese  coffee  house 
on  Beretania  Street  for  a  cup  of  Kona  coffee 
and  a  plate  of  sinkers.  If  a  steamer  had  arrived 
it  was  the  custom  to  have  a  concert  at  the  Royal 


HONOLULU  OF  THE  OLD  DAYS    209 

Hawaiian  Hotel,  the  band,  by  the  way,  being  a 
particularly  fine  one  under  direction  of  Professor 
Henry  Berger,  and  supported  by  the  Govern- 
ment. King  Kalakaua  during  his  famous  tour 
of  the  world  conceived  the  idea  of  having  such 
an  organization  in  Honolulu.  It  was  composed 
of  native  Hawaiians,  all  excellent  musicians,  and 
he  secured  Professor  Berger  to  lead  it.  The  fre- 
quent concerts  inaugurated  by  King  Kalakaua 
have  been  continued  ever  since.  Bad  as  the  old 
king  may  have  been,  the  band  will  always  remain 
a  large  item  to  his  credit.  Without  it,  Honolulu 
would  be  a  bad  place  in  which  to  live;  many  a 
poor  devil  has  enjoyed  the  treat  of  the  best  mu- 
sic under  conditions  calculated  to  conserve  its  inr 
fluence,  who  would  otherwise  have  spent  his  even- 
ing in  some  hideous  dive. 

The  concerts  in  the  grounds  of  the  Royal  Ho- 
tel were  a  sort  of  dual  function  so  far  as  I  was 
concerned.  When  attending  them  in  the  com- 
pany of  Mr.  Mclnerny  I  walked  boldly  into  the 
lobby  of  the  hotel  and  lolled  about  on  the  ve- 
randah like  a  gentleman.  When  out  with 
Hitchen,  Frenchy,  Axel,  or  Tommy,  and  on  the 
single  occasion  when  we  induced  Old  Smith  to 
forsake  the  waterfront,  I  stopped  on  the  lowly 
outskirts  of  the  crowd  among  the  natives,  and  the 


210  UNDER  SAIL 

groups  of  Chinamen,  Portuguese,  and  Japs.  We 
enjoyed  the  music  and  had  as  good  a  time  as  the 
folks  on  the  verandah;  in  fact  we  were  more 
comfortable,  for  we  dressed  in  cool  clean  dun- 
garee with  our  cotton  shirts  unstarched  and  open 
at  the  throat.  Pipes  were  always  in  order,  lavish 
conversation  was  indulged  in,  and  we  got  to  be 
accepted  on  an  equal  footing  by  many  of  the  na- 
tives. Nigger,  the  hatch  man,  a  sort  of  top  boss 
among  these  people,  was  one  of  the  best  of  Ka- 
nakas, which  is  saying  much ;  a  white  man  under 
his  skin,  and  a  gentleman  every  inch  of  him.  He 
introduced  us  to  as  exclusive  a  society  as  there 
is  in  the  islands,  and  we  always  swore  by  him 
in  spite  of  the  way  he  treated  us  the  first  few 
days  of  our  stay  in  port,  but  then,  as  he  ex- 
plained, it  was  the  Republicans  he  was  after,  and 
of  course  us  white  fellows  could  look  out  for 
ourselves. 

On  Sundays,  when  I  was  not  out  driving  with 
Mr.  Mclnerny,  Frenchy  and  Axel  and  myself 
would  wander  about  the  city  looking  at  the 
strange  sights.  Tommy  got  to  be  one  of  the 
sightseers  later  on,  and  in  our  different  excur- 
sions on  foot  we  covered  the  place  pretty  well. 
The  Palace  (from  the  outside),  the  statue  of 
Kamehameha  I,  the  Museum,  and  the  cottage  in 


HONOLULU  OF  THE  OLD  DAYS    211 

which  Stevenson  lived  at  Waikiki,  were  some  of 
the  points  of  interest  visited.  We  also  made  a 
long  hike  out  to  the  Pali.  All  of  this  is  unin- 
teresting but  simply  spread  upon  the  record  to 
show  that  the  sailor  man  of  the  old  deep  water 
days,  of  which  I  write,  was  liable  at  times  to  en- 
joy many  of  the  milder  forms  of  dissipation  now 
almost  exclusively  indulged  in  by  Cook  tourists 
and  the  winners  of  voting  contests  sent  abroad 
by  enterprising  newspapers. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  DINNER  ASHORE 

WITH  all  due  respect  to  Chow,  and  he 
moved  in  the  best  silk-shirted  circles  of 
oriental  society,  we  could  never  say  that  his  reg- 
ular bill  of  fare  on  board  the  Fuller  was  exactly 
epicurean.  He  was  bound  to  remember  that  sail- 
ors were  the  ultimate  destination  of  his  efforts 
and  he  guided  himself  accordingly. 

When  the  ship  was  at  the  end  of  her  discharg- 
ing, and  my  trials  with  the  mate  had  come  to  a 
close,  so  far  as  the  bilge  was  concerned  at  least, 
Frenchy  suggested  that  we  have  a  dinner  ashore. 
I  felt  like  celebrating  and  readily  agreed.  At 
first  we  thought  of  having  this  feast  alone,  but 
after  due  deliberation,  and  consideration  of  all 
of  the  questions  involved,  we  decided  to  invite  a 
third  shipmate.  Frenchy  figured  this  out  on  the 
basis  of  the  size  of  the  bird  that  he  held  to  be 
the  necessary  central  feature  of  the  proposed 
banquet.  The  kind  of  a  bird  Frenchy  had  in 
mind  was  a  three-man  bird — indeed  many  a  fam- 

212 


A  DINNER  ASHORE  213 

ily  of  twice  that  number  would  have  considered 
it  sufficient.  Then  again,  in  his  way  the  French- 
man was  quite  a  philosopher,  and  realized  that 
in  a  three-cornered  celebration  the  whole  affair 
would  take  on  a  better  air.  Three  may  be  a 
crowd  under  certain  circumstances,  but  where 
shipmates  get  together,  three  of  them  generally 
manage  to  have  a  better  time  than  when  they 
travel  in  pairs. 

Now  as  to  the  third  man.  I  suspected  that 
Frenchy  had  already  selected  him  when  we  went 
out  on  the  foVsle  head  to  talk  the  matter  over, 
a  few  nights  before  the  event  was  to  come  off. 
He  urged  me  to  suggest  candidates.  I  did,  pos- 
sibly more  on  their  merits  as  sailors  than  any- 
thing else,  forgetting  that  the  man  who  knows 
best  how  to  stow  a  fore  t'gan'sl  may  not  be  the 
handiest  shipmate  with  a  knife  and  fork.  Hitchen 
or  Axel  were  named  by  me. 

"No,  Felix,  that  Hitchen  always  laughs  at 
me  when  I  tell  about  the  way  we  cook  things  in 
France.  Axel  is  all  right  but  he  eats  stock  fish. 
Let  us  ask  Tommy.  Tommy  knows  a  good  din- 
ner when  he  smells  it.  Let's  ask  him." 

Thereupon  Tommy  was  asked,  and  of  course 
accepted.  We  were  to  pool  our  week's  allowance, 
two  dollars  apiece,  and  by  the  ready  way  in  which 


214  UNDER  SAIL 

Tommy  and  Frenchy  got  together  on  the  propo- 
sition I  knew  that  they  had  already  thrashed  out 
all  the  details.  Frenchy  merely  started  the  ball 
rolling  my  way  by  true  foVsle  diplomacy,  the 
boys  imagining  perhaps  that  I  would  want  some- 
one besides  Tommy  as  the  third  man,  for  some- 
how or  other  Tommy  and  I  had  never  chummed 
to  any  extent  since  our  arrival  in  Honolulu. 

The  matter  of  Tommy  disposed  of,  Frenchy 
took  the  arrangements  in  hand,  going  ashore  with 
Tommy  Saturday  night  to  perfect  the  details, 
for  these  archconspirators  had  already  selected 
the  place  at  which  we  were  to  dine.  It  transpired 
that  Nigger,  who  was  a  warm  friend  of  mine 
host,  had  highly  recommended  the  place,  so  I 
agreed  to  put  myself  in  the  hands  of  my  friends 
after  the  time-honored  custom  of  more  exalted 
candidates,  turning  over  to  them  the  two  silver 
dollars  received  from  Captain  Nichols,  and  that 
night  I  followed  my  routine  of  many  other  even- 
ings of  enforced  economy,  and  repaired  to  the 
reading  room  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A. 

When  I  came  aboard  Frenchy  and  Tommy 
were  there  to  meet  me.  They  had  seen  the  pro- 
prietor of  a  little  restaurant  on  Fort  Street  a 
few  doors  north  of  Hotel.  A  table  had  been  re- 
served for  Sunday,  at  one  o'clock,  and  the  final 


A  DINNER  ASHORE  215 

specifications  of  that  dinner  minutely  laid  down. 
Frenchy  was  enthusiastic.  I  would  now  see  what 
a  real  dinner  was  like ;  I  was  to  tell  him  frankly 
if  it  was  not  better  than  the  dinners  I  had  had 
ashore  with  my  friends.  The  proprietor,  a  Por- 
tuguese, was  a  man  of  taste  ready  to  welcome  us 
as  friends  of  Nigger;  his  wife  was  to  cook  the 
dinner  herself.  Clean  white  tablecloth,  napkins, 
and  everything  right,  had  been  ordered  by 
Frenchy. 

We  did  not  tell  the  rest  of  the  crowd  forward 
of  our  plans,  for  like  enough  they  would  only 
ridicule  the  idea.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  did  seem 
like  an  extravagance,  but  we  were  having  so 
much  fun  out  of  it  before  we  ever  came  to  the 
actual  disposition  of  the  dinner,  that  it  was  well 
worth  the  sacrifice  entailed.  "A  man  likes  to 
have  things  good  once  in  a  while,"  was  the  jus- 
tification of  Frenchy. 

Sunday  morning,  after  the  washdown,  which 
was  always  particularly  thorough  on  that  day, 
lasting  an  hour  or  so  longer  than  usual,  we  par- 
took of  a  very  light  breakfast.  We  then  shaved 
carefully,  that  is,  Tommy  and  I  did,  and  got  out 
our  best  clothes,  brushing  them  with  great  care. 

"Are  you  going  riding  to-day?"  asked  Martin 
with  a  grin. 


216  UNDER  SAIL 

"No,  Mart,  I  expect  to  dine  at  the  Palace  with 
President  Dole." 

"Is  Tommy  and  Frenchy  going  with  you?" 

"You  guessed  it.  By  special  invitation,  Mart, 
Tommy  and  Frenchy  have  been  asked  up  to  dine 
and  to  advise  the  President  as  to  the  cut  of  his 
whiskers.  Some  say  he  should  shave  like  Tommy, 
on  account  of  the  heat,  others  contend  he  should 
let  them  grow  like  Frenchy,  on  account  of  the 
mosquitoes ;  so  you  see  he  is  asking  us  up  to  din- 
ner in  order  to  settle  the  matter,"  at  which  both 
Tommy  and  Frenchy  expanded  perceptibly,  and 
Mart,  muttering  "Rats,"  went  out  on  deck  to 
escape  the  jibes  of  the  crowd.  It  was  certain 
that  something  unusual  was  up,  but  after  the 
manner  of  a  free  fo'c'sle,  the  men  kept  their  own 
counsel,  only  such  goats  as  the  wood-turner  Mar- 
tin having  the  crust  to  edge  in. 

Frenchy  broke  out  his  best — a  blue  suit,  very 
square  cut  in  the  shoulders,  double  breasted,  and 
of  substantial  cloth,  rather  heavy,  but  undoubted- 
ly good.  He  told  me  proudly  that  it  had  been 
made  to  order  in  Dunkirk  two  years  before  when 
he  was  home  on  a  visit.  He  also  polished  the  leath- 
er visor  on  his  blue  cloth  cap,  a  petty  officer's  cap, 
a  relic  of  the  old  days  in  the  navy.  Of  course 
Frenchy  had  on  a  stiff  white  shirt,  one  with  a 


A  DINNER  ASHORE  217 

very  small  bosom,  which  made  it  necessary  for 
him  to  keep  his  coat  buttoned,  for  he  decided  not 
to  wear  a  vest.  This  shirt  was  a  work  of  art, 
hand  made  by  sister  Madeleine,  and  having  col- 
lar and  cuffs  attached.  In  place  of  a  tie  he  wore 
a  loosely  knotted  scarf  of  black  silk. 

Tommy  had  a  gray  sack  suit,  not  new,  but  well 
brushed  and  neat.  The  edges  of  the  vest,  which 
he  insisted  on  wearing,  were  lined  with  black 
braid,  and  he  had  worked  black  silk  triangles  at 
the  corners  of  the  pocket  slits.  Tommy  wore  a 
very  shiny  boiled  shirt,  a  low  wing  collar,  a  fancy 
butterfly  tie  of  the  very  latest  South  Street  pat- 
tern, held  in  place  by  an  elastic  band,  and  a  gray 
felt  hat. 

I  donned  my  visiting  clothes,  and  the  three 
of  us  turned  out  in  the  height  of  perfection, 
scrubbed,  polished,  and  rubbed  down  to  the  last 
turn;  Beau  Brummel,  had  he  ever  shipped  deep 
water,  would  have  had  nothing  on  us. 

"Well,  I  hope  you  has  a  good  time,"  called 
out  Brenden  as  we  headed  aft  for  the  gangway, 
just  as  the  smelly  kids  from  the  galley  were  com- 
ing forward,  in  the  hands  of  Fred  and  Tony, 
masses  of  greasy  potroast  unappetizing  and  un- 
couth. 

The  mate  sighted  us  as  we  went  over  the  gang- 


218  UNDER  SAIL 

way.  He  stood  in  the  shadow  under  the  after 
awning  giving  us  a  thorough  looking  over. 

"Three  gentlemen  of  Verona!"  he  cried  after 
us  in  derision,  for  let  it  be  known  Mr.  Zerk  was 
something  of  a  scholar  in  his  way  and  not  with- 
out a  sense  of  inaccurate  but  racy  humor. 

Glad  to  be  clear  of  the  ship,  we  headed  up 
Nuuanu  Street  to  King,  put  our  helms  hard  to 
port  and  ran  east  under  the  shadow  of  the  sub- 
stantial concrete  stores  and  offices,  with  their 
heavy  iron  shutters  closed  for  the  Sabbath  day. 
From  King  Street  we  turned  northerly  into  Fort 
Street  and,  with  yards  squared,  and  three  abreast, 
we  bore  up  to  the  haven  in  which  we  were  to 
dine,  as  well  pleased  a  trio  of  low  degree  mari- 
ners as  ever  sailed. 

The  proprietor,  swarthy,  stout,  and  smiling, 
and  wearing  a  white  apron,  greeted  us  at  the 
door;  while  his  wife  peeked  from  behind  a  cur- 
tain in  the  rear,  as  he  ushered  us  to  a  nice  round 
table  next  to  a  window  overlooking  a  cool  shady 
garden.  We  were  the  only  diners  in  this  cozy 
room,  the  private  parlor  of  mine  host.  The 
trades  were  blowing  rather  strong  that  day  and 
a  pleasant  breeze  came  in  through  the  open  win- 
dow. The  lace  curtains  still  linger  in  my  mem- 


A  DINNER  ASHORE  219 

ory,  with  other  details  of  the  feast,  and  I  had  to 
tuck  them  back,  for  they  threatened  the  soup. 

When  I  say  that  a  small  vase  of  flowers  deco- 
rated the  white  linen,  or  perhaps  it  was  only  cot- 
ton, but  at  any  rate  fresh  and  clean,  the  fine  hand 
of  Frenchy  will  be  recognized,  for,  let  us  say  so 
again,  and  if  necessary,  again  and  again,  he  had 
planned  the  dinner  from  first  to  last  in  every  de- 
tail. 

The  soup,  for  of  course  we  started  with  soup 
and  not  with  any  of  the  exotic  indigestible  frip- 
pery often  attempted  by  ambitious  but  ill-in- 
formed caterers,  was  cold  consomme!  "Hey, 
wot's  this?"  demanded  Tommy,  "are  we  late?" 
"No,  Tommy,  you  eat  this  cold.  Try  it."  "Say, 
that's  all  to  the  all  right!" 

Well,  it  certainly  was  "all  to  the  all  right,"  and 
real  cold,  in  fact  chilly  would  be  the  proper  word. 
The  host  fluttered  about;  he  was  doing  things 
right,  and  to  entertain  guests  such  as  we,  who 
knew  and  demanded  that  every  detail  be  carried 
out;  for  such  appreciative  guests  were  rare  in- 
deed in  the  vicinity  of  Fort  Street,  not  far  from 
Hotel. 

The  fish  course  was  a  dainty  morsel  of  some 
native  species,  flaky  and  white.  It  would  take 


220  UNDER  SAIL 

a  connoisseur,  and  few  of  them  shipped  at  sea 
in  those  days,  to  describe  that  meal. 

The  roast  was  a  fat  fowl,  but  not  too  fat,  a 
plump  bird  of  the  genus  chicken. 

When  this  rare  bird  appeared  on  the  table 
Frenchy  insisted  upon  congratulating  the  cook, 
the  proprietor's  wife,  who  blushed  with  pleasure 
at  the  gracious  compliments  showered  upon  her, 
and  the  bird,  with  equal  facility.  Of  course 
Frenchy  carved.  He  carved  exactly  as  he  had 
often  carved  before  in  the  long  hungry  night 
watches  off  the  coast  of  North  America  when 
we  first  chummed  together.  Only  now  he  was 
dismembering  a  real  plump  drumstick  done  to 
a  golden  brown,  and  not  one  of  the  imaginary 
mouth-watering  tantalizers  of  the  cold  high  seas. 
Dressing  was  there  too,  and  mighty  good,  and  a 
big  dish  of  mealy  mashed  potatoes,  white  and 
satisfying. 

"Have  some  gravy,"  said  Tommy,  passing 
around  the  gravy  boat,  a  vessel  he  was  well  able 
to  command. 

We  wound  up  with  a  salad  of  lettuce,  and 
Frenchy  mixed  the  dressing  at  the  table.  It 
will  not  stretch  the  imagination  of  the  reader  to 
believe  that  by  this  time  our  shipmate  was  in  a 
highly  satisfactory  mood.  Tommy  and  I  were 


A  DINNER  ASHORE  221 

having  the  time  of  our  lives,  and  as  far  as  dinners 
go  I  have  never  enjoyed  a  better.  Since  then 
it  has  been  my  fortune  to  kick  heels  beneath  the 
same  table  with  a  prince  of  the  royal  blood,  to 
have  broken  bread  with  schoolmen  and  with  men 
of  the  old  world  who  feel  themselves  of  noble 
strain;  I  have  speared  spuds  with  the  fishermen 
of  the  north  and  have  shared  my  bacon  and  corn 
pone  with  the  niggers  in  the  swamps  of  Florida; 
I  have  dined  in  state  and  have  taken  my  chances 
in  a  college  commons,  but  never  can  I  remember 
a  better  or  a  merrier  meal. 

Some  guava  tart  and  cream  cheese,  the  latter 
served  on  small  green  leaves,  and  large  generous 
plebeian  cups  of  clear  Kona  coffee,  completed 
the  dinner. 

Our  host  had  a  surprise  for  us.  He  opened, 
and  passed  around,  a  box  of  good  cigars,  urging 
us  to  help  ourselves  to  extra  ones,  which  we  did. 
He  then  took  off  his  apron  and,  drawing  a  chair 
up  to  the  table,  joined  our  well  satisfied  company. 
We  talked  of  all  things  under  the  heavens  and 
upon  the  land  and  waters.  More  coffee  was 
called  for  at  intervals,  and  when  our  host  learned 
that  I  had  been  in  Horta,  his  native  town  in  the 
Azores,  a  new  bond  of  interest  was  established. 

Finally,  with  regret,  the  time  came  to  depart. 


222  UNDER  SAIL 

A  fine  touch  worthy  of  that  finished  sailor,  Vic- 
tor Mathes  of  Dunkirk,  God  rest  his  soul  and 
grant  him  all  prosperity,  was  the  fact  that  the 
meal  had  been  paid  for  in  advance  and  we  left 
our  host  without  the  sordid  jingling  of  change 
or  offering  of  a  pauperizing  tip,  this  worthy 
bowing  us  to  the  door,  three  contented  sailors, 
with  extended  belts,  and  empty  pockets,  and 
nothing  but  a  ship  to  call  our  home. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

BRITISH  NEIGHBORS 

THE  memory  of  our  famous  dinner  ashore, 
a  feast  that  was  enjoyed  over  and  over 
again  in  reminiscences  during  the  succeeding 
months  of  the  voyage,  brings  to  mind,  hy  very 
contrast,  the  sad  picture  of  a  body  of  men  who 
were  constantly  hungry.  These  unfortunates 
were  the  crew  of  the  iron  ship  British  Monarch. 
We  became  very  friendly  with  the  crowd  on  the 
Britisher  during  our  stay  in  port,  finding  them 
there  when  we  came  and  leaving  them  behind 
when  we  put  to  sea.  These  poor  devils  talked 
of  food,  thought  of  food,  and  dreamt  of  food; 
they  did  everything  but  eat  it  in  anything  like 
satisfying  quantities. 

They  were  a  typical  English  ship's  company 
in  this  case,  carrying  a  larger  number  of  Britons 
than  was  generally  the  rule.  The  Dutchman,  that 
is  anything  hailing  from  the  north  of  Europe, 
of  course  predominated. 

"Bli  me  if  she  ain't  the  'ungriest  bloody  tawnk 

223 


224  UNDER  SAIL 

hout  o'  Lunnon.  Arsh  thy  calls  hit.  Sye,  hif 
arsh  hever  tysted  like  that,  so  'elp  me.  And  they 
arsts  me  to  heat  me  fill,  the  rotters!  Blarst  'em! 
The  bloody  rotters!" 

The  speaker,  a  native  of  parts  near  London, 
a  vivacious  and  interesting  lad  named  Parker 
Tweedy,  treated  us  to  this  and  much  more  in  the 
same  vein.  Tweedy  elected  himself  a  "Hextra 
'and"  at  our  mess  and  helped  clean  up  the  kids 
on  many  an  occasion.  In  fact  many  a  pocket 
full  of  tack  and  many  a  half  pan  of  dry  hash 
went  from  the  Fuller  to  the  British  Monarch. 

Two  very  youthful  apprentice  boys,  fair 
haired  and  rosy  faced,  with  china-blue  eyes,  were 
among  her  complement.  These  children,  they 
were  nothing  more,  gloried  in  the  most  awful 
command  of  profanity.  The  boys  were  to  be 
seen  wandering  about  ashore  of  an  evening,  their 
faded  blue  uniform  caps  proclaiming  them  the 
sons  of  doting  parents  who  were  willing  to  pay 
a  bonus  of  fifty  pounds  in  order  that  their  boys 
might  learn  the  rudiments  of  seamanship  and 
navigation  on  the  clipper  ship  British  Monarch, 
late  of  the  China  and  Australia  trade.  "Uniform 
is  worn — meaning  the  caps — and  the  young  gen- 
tlemen are  berthed  in  separate  quarters  in  the 
cuddy  house."  So  read  the  tale  that  snared  them. 


BRITISH  NEIGHBORS  225 

However,  nothing  except  hunger  ever  seemed  to 
happen  to  these  lads,  and  as  they  flattened  their 
noses  against  the  confectioner's  windows  ashore, 
they  were  unconsciously  absorbing  lessons  that 
might  be  of  value  to  them  in  after  life. 

Like  most  English  ships  of  this  class,  the 
British  Monarch  was  a  disgrace  to  the  sea  and 
in  no  way  representative  of  the  best  traditions 
of  the  English  service.  The  system  in  vogue  in 
ships  of  her  kind  may  be  epitomized  as  one  of 
least  work  and  less  food.  Day  after  day  the 
crew  would  sling  a  scaffold  plank  over  her  side 
and  chip  her  rusty  plates  in  a  languid,  melan- 
choly way,  interspersing  their  half-hearted  labors 
by  lengthy  discussions.  Small  patches  of  the 
chipped  surface  would  be  coated  with  red  lead 
and  the  British  Monarch  looked  like  a  tattered 
sea  rover  wearing  a  very  much  torn  coat  through 
which  patches  of  red  undershirt  were  visible. 

Her  gear  aloft  was  most  slovenly,  Irish  pend- 
ants hanging  from  every  yard,  and  her  spars  tak- 
ing any  direction  in  which  they  happened  to  be 
at  the  time  the  braces  were  belayed.  Her  skipper, 
a  youngish  man  and  very  unassuming,  would 
scull  about  the  harbor  in  a  small  jolly  boat  visit- 
ing his  friends.  Why  the  crew  stayed  by  the  ship 
was  a  mystery,  with  good  billets  going  begging 


226  UNDER  SAIL 

for  sailor  men  to  hold  them;  however,  when  we 
learned  that  they  had  a  year's  payday  on  the 
books  and  were  looking  forward  to  some  happy 
distant  time  when  that  rusty  ark  would  drop  her 
anchor  in  the  Thames  or  Mersey,  the  reason  for 
their  staying  by  was  plain. 

Kitchen  and  I  went  on  board  of  her  after  we 
had  been  in  port  for  several  weeks  and  I  was  sur- 
prised to  have  him  take  me  aft  into  the  cabin. 
All  he  would  say  was  that  he  had  met  Mr.  Gore, 
the  mate,  back  in  England ;  they  were  old  friends, 
"so  what's  the  difference  if  I  am  before  the  mast 
so  long  as  it's  in  another  ship?"  which  was  true 
enough.  The  cabin  of  the  ship  was  very  elabo- 
rately appointed,  though  not  well  taken  care  of. 
The  British  Monarch  had  been  in  the  East  India 
trade  at  one  time  and  was  fitted  to  carry  a  lim- 
ited number  of  cabin  passengers. 

Mr.  Gore,  the  mate,  was  a  taciturn  man  of 
about  forty,  much  given  to  study  and  reflection, 
for  which  he  had  ample  opportunity,  as  the  care 
and  working  of  the  ship  never  seemed  to  bother 
him.  The  second  mate,  Mr.  Hauton,  a  lad  of 
less  than  twenty,  was  most  hospitable.  He  was 
a  graduate  of  an  English  schoolship,  and  as  I 
was  from  the  St.  Mary's,  we  had  a  lot  to  talk 
about,  comparing  notes  on  all  matters  relating 


BRITISH  NEIGHBORS  227 

to  the  profession  of  the  sea.  He  was  a  "Wrinkles" 
fan  and  exhibited  a  thumbed  copy  of  the  first 
edition.  As  I  had  a  copy  of  the  latest,  much 
enlarged,  Hauton  made  me  promise  to  loan  it  to 
him. 

One  thing  that  was  notable  was  the  fact  that 
they  had  the  run  of  things  aft,  going  into  the 
captain's  room  for  books,  and  freely  inviting 
their  friends  on  board  to  partake  of  such  hos- 
pitality as  the  vessel  afforded.  The  social  equal- 
ity aft  was  better  balanced  than  in  the  Fuller, 
and  deservedly  so.  On  the  other  hand,  our  mate 
was  a  far  better  sailor  than  either  of  these  men, 
yet  he  was  as  far  removed  from  the  captain,  as 
we  were  from  the  sacred  shelter  of  the  forward 
cabin. 

Hauton  and  I  made  a  number  of  interesting  ex- 
cursions about  Honolulu  and  its  vicinity.  We  vis- 
ited the  Oahu  prison,  whose  white  walls  loomed 
over  the  green  meadows  beyond  the  railroad 
wharf.  Another  trip  took  us  out  to  the  great 
Ewa  Plantation.  Hauton  was  keen  on  visiting 
the  coast  traders  as  they  came  in  from  Califor- 
nia, and  having  more  or  less  of  a  fixture  during 
the  long  stay  in  port  of  the  British  Monarch,  he 
was  able  to  make  many  friends.  His  reason  for 
staying  by  the  ship  was  the  fact  that  the  time  in 


228  UNDER  SAIL 

port,  he  being  signed  on  as  a  regular  officer,  was 
telling  toward  his  sea  service.  On  their  return, 
if  they  ever  did  return,  he  would  go  before  the 
examiners  of  the  Board  of  Trade  as  a  candidate 
for  the  First  Mate's  Certificate  of  Competency. 

They  do  this  sort  of  thing  much  better  in  Eng- 
land, and  in  fact  in  all  of  the  European  coun- 
tries, than  we  do.  There  an  ambitious  lad  of 
seventeen,  who  has  had  his  service  and  possesses 
the  necessary  knowledge  of  navigation,  can  pass 
for  second  mate.  In  the  United  States  the  young 
man  must  be  twenty-one,  an  age  at  which  they 
commanded  ships  in  the  good  old  days,  before 
the  Local  Inspectors  of  Steam  Vessels  can  exam- 
ine him  for  a  second  mate's  license.*  This  fool- 
ish rule  kept  me  roughing  at  sea,  in  subordinate 
billets,  for  three  years  before  I  could  qualify  and 
go  to  sea  as  an  officer,  that  is,  three  years  more 
than  were  necessary,  as  I  was-  qualified  by  ser- 
vice and  knowledge  at  the  age  of  eighteen. 

Another  thing,  and  here  is  as  good  a  place  to 
say  it  as  any,  the  whole  system  of  examining  mer- 
chant officers  is  wrong.  The  U.  S.  Local  In- 
spectors of  Steam  Vessels  are  earnest,  capable 
officers,  but  must  work  with  the  laws  and  regu- 

*  Changed  in  1916  to  admit  men  of  19  years,  having  the  required 
sea  experience,  to  examination  for  third  or  second  mate. 


BRITISH  NEIGHBORS  229 

lations  as  they  find  them.  The  examinations  are 
even  less  rigid  now  *  than  formerly,  owing  to  the 
great  need  for  officers  to  man  our  ships. 

One  of  the  worst  features  of  the  thing  is  the 
fact  that  they  give  a  man  a  "license"  I  have  no 
desire  to  quarrel  about  mere  words,  but  why  not 
be  consistent?  As  we  "license"  our  merchant 
marine  officers,  let  us  do  the  whole  thing  in  the 
same  hayseed  fashion  and  give  our  naval  officers 
"permits"  instead  of  "commissions,"  or  perhaps 
include  them  in  the  scheme  of  licenses.  An  old 
sailor  once  told  me  that  he  would  rather  have  a 
liquor  license  than  a  license  to  sail  the  oceans 
as  master.  Dog  licenses,  peddler's  licenses,  and 
what  not,  all  confused  in  the  average  mind  with 
merchant  officer's  licenses  are  the  result  of  ig- 
norance founded  on  a  political  system,  that,  orig- 
inating ashore,  has  bungled  the  laws  governing 
our  sea  service  since  the  fatal  time  when  it  was 
taken  under  the  present  system  of  control. 

To  end  this  "backwash  of  wrath"  let  us  give 
our  merchant  officers  "A  Certificate  of  Compe- 
tency" or  any  old  thing  but  a  "license."  As  a 
matter  of  fact  the  officer's  license  looks  very 
much  like  the  license  displayed  in  saloon  win- 

*  1918. 


230  UNDER  SAIL 

dows,  permitting  them  to  do  business  by  virtue 
of  their  payment  of  internal  revenue  taxes. 

The  yawl  of  the  Britisher  was  an  able,  fine 
modeled  boat,  sported  a  leg-o'-mutton  rig  and 
frequently,  of  a  moonlight  evening,  the  breeze 
being  fair,  Kitchen  and  I  would  go  out  sailing 
with  the  mates  of  the  British  Monarch.  On  one 
occasion  Hauton  and  I  took  the  yawl  out 
through  the  harbor  entrance  and  beat  our  way  as 
far  east  as  Waikiki  Beach,  expecting  to  sail  back 
before  it  with  a  fair  breeze.  It  fell  calm  and  we 
were  compelled  to  beach  her  and  leave  the  boat 
in  charge  of  a  native,  as  she  was  too  big  an  order 
for  us  to  row  back  alone,  especially  as  we  car- 
ried only  one  oar.  This  taught  us  a  lesson,  for 
we  had  to  walk  back,  not  having  a  cent  in  our 
pockets.  The  next  night  we  went  out  by  car 
with  the  two  apprentice  boys  and  a  number  of 
our  Hawaiian  friends,  who  brought  their  uku- 
leles. The  sail  back  into  the  harbor  was  most 
enjoyable.  These  people  have  excellent  voices, 
as  a  rule,  and  sing  with  a  haunting  plaintive 
strain  of  sadness  that  can  never  be  forgotten. 

In  the  undertow  of  human  flotsam  that  cir- 
culated about  the  wharves  and  waterfront  sa- 
loons, there  was  considerable  talk  about  the 
smuggling  of  opium.  It  seemed  a  profitable 


BRITISH  NEIGHBORS  231 

business  to  engage  in,  judging  by  the  talk  we 
heard.  A  leak  in  the  customs,  or  some  loophole 
in  the  restrictions  on  the  trade,  allowed  a  lot  of 
the  drug  to  get  into  Honolulu.  Often,  as  we 
sailed  about  the  harbor  in  the  evening,  we  would 
notice  the  small  schooners  coming  in  and  out, 
many  of  these  being  consigned  to  Chinese  and 
Japanese  merchants.  The  cleverest  of  the  smug- 
glers would  come  into  the  port  with  their  ship- 
ment of  opium  slung  under  the  keel  of  the  vessel. 
Bearings  would  be  taken  at  some  point,  perhaps 
some  time  before  letting  go  the  anchor,  and  the 
contraband  tripped  to  the  bottom.  All  that  was 
necessary  then  was  to  deliver  the  bearings;  the 
consignee  could  go  out  and  pick  up  his  freight 
in  a  fishing  net  when  most  convenient. 

Going  to  sea  breeds  a  garrulous  curiosity 
among  sailors.  The  shipping  in  the  harbor  was 
a  constant  source  of  discussion  aboard  the  Fuller. 
Of  fine  trim  sailing  craft,  Honolulu  held  more 
than  her  share  in  those  days.  Such  craft  as  the 
barkentine  Irmgard,  the  bark  Nuuanu>  and  the 
Foohing  Suey  were  a  delight  to  the  eye.  The 
bark  Rhoderick  Dhu  was  also  one  of  them,  and 
eight  years  later  I  saw  her  come  slambanging 
into  the  broad  harbor  of  Hilo,  all  sail  set  and 
a  crowd  of  gaily  dressed  women  on  her  poop. 


232  UNDER  SAIL 

She  was  still  popular  as  a  passenger  carrier, 
and  came  to  anchor  with  the  precision  of  a  man- 
o'-war. 

The  island  steamer,  a  typical  product  of  Ha- 
waii, is  a  cross  between  a  steam  schooner,  only 
shorter,  and  a  New  England  boarding  house  and 
factory  combination.  A  black  tin  smokestack 
rises  above  the  front  porch,  two  stump  masts  are 
fitted  with  leg-of-mutton  sails  to  steady  her,  and 
a  large  crew  of  Kanakas  complete  the  maritime 
mess. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  MATE  KEEPS  US  BUSY 

NEWS  that  war  with  Spain  had  been  de- 
clared reached  us  on  April  27th,  coming  by 
the  U.  S.  Mariposa  from  Sydney.  On  the  same 
day  we  discharged  the  last  piece  of  cargo  in  the 
hold  of  the  Fuller  and  hauled  into  the  stream  to 
get  ready  for  our  return  loading  of  sugar.  This 
ended  our  shore  liberty  for  a  few  nights,  but  it 
really  came  as  a  relief  to  us.  Three  busy  weeks 
along  shore,  weeks  that  seemed  like  months  when 
we  thought  of  all  that  had  happened,  sickened 
us  of  the  dust  and  smell,  the  latter  emanating 
largely  from  the  Chinese  houses  with  their  pe- 
culiar odor  of  rancid  sweetened  grease.  The 
chatter  of  the  Kanakas  wearied  us  and  the  mos- 
quito pest  along  shore  was  enough  to  discour- 
age even  the  most  pronounced  optimist.  We  were 
glad,  indeed,  for  a  few  days  of  comparative  quiet 
while  in  the  stream;  at  least  it  was  three  days 
of  quiet  that  we  looked  forward  to. 

Before  hauling  away  from  the  wharf  we  took 

233 


234  UNDER  SAIL 

aboard  a  lot  of  rough  pine  and  spruce  lumber, 
material  to  be  used  in  lining  the  ship.  Shore 
carpenters  came  out,  men  thoroughly  versed  in 
the  work,  and  in  an  incredible  time  had  fitted  a 
complete  inner  skin  throughout  the  hold.  This 
was  kept  at  least  a  foot  away  from  the  sides  of 
the  vessel  and  some  two  feet  above  the  bilges, 
and  the  ceiling  next  the  keelson,  the  ceiling  being 
at  the  bottom  and  not  at  the  top  of  the  hold,  as 
landsmen  might  imagine.  The  boarding  of  this 
inner  skin  was  cleverly  laid,  clinker  fashion  like 
the  clapboards  on  a  house,  so  that  any  sweat 
or  leak  water  in  the  hold  would  be  shed  and  run 
down  clear  to  the  bilges  without  wetting  the  pre- 
cious cargo. 

A  cargo  of  sugar  such  as  was  to  be  carried  by 
the  Fuller  was  worth  at  that  time  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  a  quarter  of  a  million,  and  the  greatest 
precautions  were  taken  to  safeguard  it.  In  ad- 
dition to  guarding  against  wet,  all  places  where 
the  sugar  bags  might,  by  any  chance,  come  in 
contact  with  iron,  as  the  bolt  heads  in  the  heavy 
knees  that  jutted  through  the  inner  lining,  were 
wrapped  with  extra  thicknesses  of  gunny  sack. 
When  this  job  was  completed  the  lower  hold 
looked  like  the  inside  of  a  gigantic  melon,  nicely 
hollowed  out.  There  was  a  clean  sweep  from  the 


THE  MATE  KEEPS  US  BUSY   235 

fore  peak  to  the  lazarette,  only  interrupted  by 
the  mainmast  and  the  upright  water  tank,  a  sim- 
ple hold  such  as  was  considered  safe  and  proper 
in  the  days  of  Columbus  and  of  Drake. 

The  'tween  decks  of  the  Fuller  was  rather 


WATCHING  THE  SHOEE  WHEN   IN  THE  STREAM 

fancy.  Her  voyage  previous  to  the  one  we  were 
on  had  taken  her  to  China  and  while  in  Shanghai 
the  'tween  decks  was  scraped  bright.  The  under 
side  of  the  spar  deck,  the  lining,  knees,  and 
waterways,  were  all  in  natural  wood  and  coated 
with  a  varnish  made  of  shellac  and  oil.  The  heads 
of  bolts,  and  all  iron  work,  had  been  painted  with 


236  UNDER  SAIL 

aluminum  paint  and  then  varnished.  When  we 
first  noted  this  it  brought  forth  some  caustic  com- 
ment. 

"They  do  the  cargo  a  damn  sight  better  than 
they  do  us,"  remarked  Australia.  And  this  was 
right  and  proper.  The  cargo  pays  freight  and 
should  be  considered,  whereas  we  were  a  part  of 
the  expense,  to  be  cut  down  as  low  as  possible 
both  in  numbers  and  wages. 

Captain  Nichols,  too,  was  glad  to  get  away 
from  the  wharf  and  all  the  annoyances  incident 
to  discharging.  The  dust  and  unavoidable  dirt 
tracked  aboard  ship  by  the  people  from  shore 
were  a  constant  vexation  to  his  soul.  I  have  often 
seen  the  skipper  bob  up  from  the  companion  and 
chase  some  unsuspecting  visitor  ashore  without 
ceremony;  some  poor  deluded  mortal  without  a 
proper  reverence  for  the  sacred  character  of 
those  spotless  after  decks  that  we  had  holy- 
stoned and  scrubbed  so  carefully  every  day  of 
the  voyage. 

When  we  got  in  the  stream  a  comfortable 
deck  chair  was  brought  out  for  the  captain  and 
placed  on  top  of  the  cabin  and  several  times  we 
saw  him  actually  recline  at  his  ease  in  this  con- 
cession to  luxury.  The  skipper  also  wore  won- 
derful white  clothing  with  double  blue  stripes; 


THE  MATE  KEEPS  US  BUSY  237 

this  was  really  silk,  but  looked  for  all  the  world 
like  the  standard  pattern  for  bedticking.  It 
must  have  been  cool,  and  after  all  that  is  why 
he  wore  them.  Coming  out  to  the  ship  a  few 
days  after  we  had  hauled  out,  the  captain  had 
his  boatman  row  him  around  the  vessel  while  he 
eyed  her  carefully.  Evidently  everything  was 
right  aloft,  yards  square  and  all  gear  snug,  for 
of  course  the  mate  had  seen  to  that,  but  he  was 
not  pleased  with  the  appearance  of  the  hull.  The 
following  morning  we  got  busy  and  all  that  day 
half  of  us  were  over  the  side  scrubbing  her.  We 
took  long  brooms  and  cleaned  off  the  high  wall 
of  copper,  for  being  light  she  showed  some  six 
feet  of  it,  and  when  we  got  through,  the  Fuller 
looked  something  like  her  old  self. 

During  all  of  our  time  in  Honolulu  the  mate 
remained  very  much  to  himself.  I  only  remem- 
ber seeing  him  go  ashore  a  few  times  and  none 
of  us  ever  met  him  when  off  the  ship.  He  led 
a  lonesome  life,  and  after  the  hard  day  of  driv- 
ing us  with  all  duties  devolving  on  him  alone,  I 
have  no  doubt  he  was  pretty  well  done.  Thinking 
it  over,  I  have  since  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  terrible  Mr.  Zerk,  the  bully  and  the  slave- 
driver,  with  a  curse  always  ready  on  his  lips,  and 
a  heavy  fist  prepared  to  enforce  his  mandates, 


238  UNDER  SAIL 

was  a  sort  of  Mr.  Hyde  to  a  very  domestic  Zerk 
saving  his  payday  at  the  rate  of  a  paltry  sixty 
dollars  a  month  against  the  time  of  his  return 
home  to  the  wife  and  kids.  His  supply  of  home- 
made jams  and  preserved  pickles,  so  sparingly 
given  me  on  the  passage  out,  confirms  this  con- 
clusion. True,  I  hated  him  cordially  during 
those  trying  days  in  Honolulu,  but  then  I  was 
very  much  of  an  ass,  and  no  doubt  deserved  all 
that  was  given  me.  When  we  went  into  the 
stream,  things  got  better;  the  mate  slackened 
up  to  the  extent  of  allowing  me  to  tally  aboard 
the  lumber  for  the  lining. 

About  this  time  talk  in  the  fo'c'sle  was  much 
concerned  with  speculation  as  to  who  would  be 
our  second  mate.  Martin  said  he  had  overheard 
the  mate  tell  someone  from  the  shore  that  a  man 
was  coming  out  from  Frisco  to  take  the  billet. 

"Not  on  yer  life,"  said  Australia;  "they  will 
pick  something  easy  from  forward.  This  mate 
likes  to  run  things  hisself  and  all  he  wants  is 
some  boy  to  stay  awake  nights  to  call  the  captain 
if  a  squall  blows  up.  They  will  pick  one  of 
us,  but  whoever  he  is,  he  will  be  a  fool." 

In  fact  not  long  afterward  judicious  sound- 
ings were  taken  forward  by  that  left-handed 
diplomat,  the  gloomy  Chips.  Whoever  sent  him 


THE  MATE  KEEPS  US  BUSY   239 

on  his  fruitless  errand  must  have  received  an  en- 
lightening message.  Chips  cornered  one  man 
after  another  and  in  a  deliberate  fashion  got  his 
ideas  as  to  who  was  willing  to  go  aft.  We  were 
all  of  one  opinion  as  to  who  was  most  fitted  for 
the  billet;  Old  Smith  of  course  was  the  man. 
Although  he  was  known  as  Old  Smith,  it  was 
more  a  matter  of  respect,  his  age  being  only 
about  forty  or  forty-five.  He  had  sailed  before 
the  mast  since  boyhood,  most  of  this  time  deep- 
water,  back  and  forth  around  the  Horn,  sailing 
as  second  mate  many  times  but  always  going 
back  to  the  fo'c'sle  as  his  choice. 

Smith  never  drank  to  excess  while  in  Hono- 
lulu, was  a  clean-cut,  able  seaman,  a  type  as 
scarce  in  those  days  and  unknown  now. 

Some  hitch  ashore  occurred  in  regard  to  our 
cargo,  for  we  lay  in  the  stream  three  days  after 
we  were  ready  to  load.  In  the  interval  the  mate 
hit  upon  a  brilliant  idea.  Why  he  thought  of 
this  piece  of  hazing,  for  such  it  was,  is  merely  a 
guess  on  my  part,  but  the  growing  cheerfulness 
forward  must  have  annoyed  him.  The  band  was 
particularly  active  after  we  left  the  wharf,  the 
concerts  on  the  fo'c'sle  head,  of  an  evening,  last- 
ing well  into  the  night. 

The  day  after  the  hold  was  finished  we  were 


240  UNDER  SAIL 

horsed  about  unmercifully  at  the  washdown. 
Fred,  Martin  and  I  had  put  large  batches  of 
clothing  to  soak  the  night  before,  expecting  to 
find  time  during  the  day  for  scrubbing,  as  we 
looked  forward  to  a  rather  easy  time. 

"Hey!  Put  them  swabs  up.  Never  mind 
that,  Smith;  break  out  a  couple  of  barrels  of 
sand.  Leave  the  water  spar,"  this  last  to  Frenchy 
and  Charlie  Horse,  who  were  about  to  unrig  it; 
for  Charlie  Horse  always  helped  at  the  morning 
washdown  after  his  night  of  watching,  "to 
give  him  an  appetite  for  breakfast,"  as  the  mate 
said. 

"Wot  in  hell  is  the  racket?"  asked  Australia 
in  alarm.  "So  help  me — is  that  busher  going  to 
start  something  new?" 

"Dot's  it.  Somethings  new  again.  Maybe  the 
'bear'  in  port,  or  something,"  chimed  in  Scouse. 

"Get  your  breakfast!"  shouted  the  mate  as 
soon  as  the  sand  was  on  deck,  and  we  went  for- 
ward with  the  whole  ship  in  a  mess — gear  on  the 
pins,  deck  wet,  and  two  barrels  of  mysterious 
sand  at  the  main  hatch. 

"By ,  he's  got  me,"  confessed  Hitchen; 

"whatever  the  bloody  bitch  has  up  his  sleeve  is 


a  new  one." 


"Joe  was  wise;  that's  what  he  was,  wise.    And 


THE  MATE  KEEPS  US  BUSY   241 

say,  that  little  hipercrite  Jimmy,  was  he  wise? 
Well,  ast  me,  will  you,  after  tonight?  I'll  bet 
something  is  doing,  and  something  very  fine. 
We  been  having  our  fling  too  much.  The  hell 
with  these  American  working  wagons!" 

"Aw,  shut  up,  Brenden,  will  you?  For  Gawd's 
sake,  have  some  feelin's  for  us.  Look  at  Fred; 
he's  too  tired  to  eat." 

The  reaction  from  our  high  spirits  of  the  last 
few  days  was  complete.  We  sat  around  dejected 
after  breakfast,  and  it  was  with  a  feeling  of  re- 
lief that  we  heard  the  bull-like  roar  of  the  mate 
urging  us  to  turn  to.  This  summons  reverber- 
ated across  the  harbor,  and  must  have  advertised 
us  as  a  packet  of  strife. 

Things  were  not  long  in  abeyance.  We  were 
ordered  to  wet  down  decks  again  and  spread 
the  sand  on  the  main  deck  as  far  forward  as  the 
windlass.  Old  Smith,  Frenchy,  Brenden,  and 
Martin  were  told  off  to  lend  a  hand  to  Chips. 
The  first  lengths  of  the  chain  cables  were  stop- 
pered just  abaft  the  wild  cats,  and  by  means  of 
handy  billys  and  chain  hooks  we  roused  up  long 
bights  of  the  rusty  cables  and  ranged  them' 
along  the  deck,  constantly  wetting  down  and 
sprinkling  sand  to  protect  the  planks.  This 
was  no  easy  job;  in  fact  we  worked  like  slaves 


242  UNDER  SAIL 

at  the  back-breaking  labor,  having  something 
like  a  hundred  fathoms  to  handle  on  each  an- 
chor. The  night  after  this  started  our  band 
went  out  of  business,  for  we  all  turned  in. 

Mr.  Zerk  was  positively  cheerful  during  the 
second  and  last  day  of  this  job.  When  we  had 
completed  hauling  out  the  chain,  made  of  great 
links  a  half  foot  long,  and  strengthened  by  a 
heavy  stud,  he  descended  to  the  chain  locker, 
while  I  went  with  him  carrying  the  lantern.  We 
found  very  little  dirt  in  the  locker,  and  that  also 
seemed  to  please  the  mate.  The  whole  operation, 
aside  from  furnishing  us  considerable  exercise, 
did  no  particular  good,  nor  for  that  matter  harm. 
I  was  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  see  the  thing 
done,  an  interesting  piece  of  work  from  the  stand- 
point of  the  student  of  seamanship.  The  ends  of 
the  cables  were  passed  through  heavy  ring  bolts 
on  the  keelson  and  then  were  carried  up  and  se- 
cured by  a  stout  lashing  to  rings  in  the  knight 
heads.  This  method  of  securing  made  it  possible 
to  slip  the  cables  by  casting  off  the  ends  and  let- 
ting them  go  by  the  run,  as  the  ends  are  always  in 
sight.  The  necessity  for  slipping  cables  comes 
very  seldom,  but  when  it  does  have  to  be  done 
the  safety  of  the  ship  and  all  on  board  depends 
upon  the  ability  to  let  go  quickly  and  without  a 


THE  MATE  KEEPS  US  BUSY   243 

hitch.  During  this  work  we  examined  the  mark- 
ings on  the  chain.  At  the  links  next  to  the  shack- 
les, that  separate  the  different  shots  of  the  cable, 
turns  of  wire  are  placed  on  the  studs  so  that  in 
running  out  the  cable  the  shackles  can  be  exam- 
ined as  they  go  over  the  wild  cats,  and  the  length 
of  chain  out  determined.  Large  swivels  are  also 
provided  for  taking  out  the  turns  when  a  vessel 
swings  completely  around  in  a  tide  way.  Where 
two  anchors  are  out,  and  the  chains  become 
twisted,  we  have  the  necessity  for  "clearing  the 
hawse,"  an  old  time  honored  operation  per- 
formed by  the  voyagers  in  the  days  of  Columbus 
when  hawsers  were  used.  The  hawse  pipes  still 
retain  their  name  though  great  chain  cables  are 
now  employed. 

The  labor  of  stowing  the  cables  was  less  pain- 
ful than  that  of  rousing  them  up  as  gravity 
worked  with  us. 

On  the  night  we  finished  this  job  we  received 
word  that  the  ship  was  to  go  alongside  again  the 
next  day,  and  again  we  were  glad  of  the  change. 
That  the  system  on  board  was  a  good  one  can- 
not be  denied.  We  were  always  glad  that  some 
disagreeable  piece  of  work  was  done,  and,  except 
for  the  croakers,  who  were  always  predicting 
trouble — and  were  always  right — we  were  a  very 


244  UNDER  SAIL 

contented  lot  of  men.  It  also  happened  that  in 
the  scheme  of  things  no  part  of  the  ship  was  ever 
neglected,  and  the  owners  received  full  value  in 
the  care  of  their  vessel  for  the  wages  that  were 
slowly  accruing  to  us. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  LAND  OF  LANGUOR 

THE  month  in  port  had  pulled  us  together  in 
a  remarkable  manner.  The  ship's  company 
forward  were  as  one  large  family  gathered  by 
strange  chance  from  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and, 
because  of  the  wonderful  adaptability  of  human 
nature,  we  were  working  and  living  our  life  in 
pleasant  harmony.  Of  course  it  might  as  well  be 
said  that  if  anything  otherwise  had  occurred,  if 
constant  fighting  had  taken  place,  our  well 
trained  masters  of  the  cabin  would  have  put  the 
disturbances  down  with  little  delay. 

On  the  Fuller  we  mustered  an  imposing  ar- 
ray of  nationalities;  besides  Americans,  we  had 
Norwegians,  a  Swede,  an  Italian,  two  Germans, 
and  an  Englishman.  The  mate,  an  American, 
had  "Blue  Nose"  written  all  over  him.  He  was 
one  of  those  hard  men,  originating  in  Nova 
Scotia,  who  have  added  their  bit  to  the  consum- 
mate seamanship  of  New  England  and  New 
York.  The  Chinese  cook,  and  Japanese  boy, 

245 


246  UNDER  SAIL 

and  later  on  our  Kanaka  sailors,  helped  to  make 
us  as  conglomerate  as  any  melting  pot.  The  one 
man  we  lacked,  and  it  was  the  only  place  in  my 
career  of  much  work  and  poor  pay,  that  I  did 
not  find  him,  was  the  Irishman.  We  missed 
Paddy ;  he  should  have  been  there. 

The  amount  of  the  pay  day  coming  to  us,  some 
time  in  the  distant  future,  was  a  constant  source 
of  computation.  Figuring  the  time  since  the 
working  off  of  the  dead  horse,  and  deducting  the 
slop  chest  account,  also  the  money  advanced 
while  in  port,  and  while  the  figures  were  often 
disappointing,  there  was  still  the  possibility  of  a 
tidy  pay  day  looming  far  ahead.  Unlike  the 
poor  whaleman  with  the  prospect  of  nothing  but 
his  "Iron  Dollar"  and  escape  from  slavery,  we 
did  have  a  show  to  collect.  The  captain  in 
American  ships  is  allowed  to  charge  a  profit  of 
ten  per  cent  on  his  slop  chest  account.  I  doubt 
if  Captain  Nichols  did  even  this.  He  had  the 
steward  serve  out  such  things  as  were  wanted, 
and  the  prices  were  lower  than  the  cost  of  simi- 
lar articles  on  South  Street.  When  Peter  dipped 
in  too  strong,  getting,  or  rather  attempting  to 
get  expensive  things  from  the  slops,  the  captain 
refused  to  let  him  have  them.  Peter  once  want- 
ed some  tobacco,  he  was  going  very  heavy  on 


THE  LAND  OF  LANGUOR       247 

this  item  as  he  regularly  gave  it  away.  Captain 
Nichols  shut  down  on  him  and  after  that  handed 
him  cigars  whenever  he  happened  to  see  Peter. 

Scouse  was  one  of  the  principal  calculators  of 
the  pay  day.  He  had  a  frugal  mind  and  was 
planning  great  things  with  his  money  when  he 
should  once  more  get  back  to  New  York.  With 
Joe  gone,  Scouse  became  a  different  man.  He 
was  a  sobered  Scouse,  a  deep  thinking  plodder 
who  gave  himself  up  to  day  dreams  that  must 
have  been  of  vast  extent.  Scouse  announced  that 
he  intended  to  get  married.  He  planned  to  meet 
and  marry  some  good  obliging  German  girl, 
"Just  over;  dot's  the  one."  A  girl  not  averse 
to  a  big  lumbering  Dutchman  with  a  shock  of 
coarse  red  hair,  and  a  terrible  appetite;  however 
a  man  not  afraid  to  work.  His  idea  was  to  go 
west.  "No  more  from  dis  rotten  sailor's  humbug 
by  me.  I  was  going  to  be  somepody  ant  get  re- 
spect ant  lif  like  decent  people."  Also  he  fig- 
ured on  a  nest  egg  of  a  little  over  one  hundred 
dollars.  But  then,  families  have  been  founded 
on  less,  though  of  course  the  founders  were  not 
destined  to  be  welcomed  home  by  a  band  of 
crimps  and  blandishers. 

Frenchy  too  had  great  plans.  He  was  going 
back  to  Dunkirk.  To  be  sure  he  even  talked 


248  UNDER  SAIL 

of  going  back  to  Havre,  in  the  French  Line, 
paying  his  steerage  passage.  Then  he  planned 
to  get  spliced,  and  his  scheme  was  to  go  out  in 
the  fishing  fleet,  or  else  back  to  New  Caledonia, 
where  he  knew  the  country,  and  start  life  afresh. 

Axel  was  going  back  to  Sweden,  to  Stock- 
holm, so  he  said,  and  never  more  out  on  the  briny 
billows  of  discontent.  Fred  was  also  a  prospec- 
tive homeward  bounder.  Trondhjem  was  his 
destination,  and  the  fishing  fleets  of  the  town  the 
means  for  his  living.  Tony  and  Charlie  Horse 
intended  to  join  Scouse  in  so  far  as  they  were 
bound  for  the  interior  of  the  U.  S.  A. 

During  these  many  discussions,  the  wise  sailor 
men  like  Kitchen,  Brenden,  and  Smith,  the  sea- 
soned shellbacks,  full  of  the  cruel  furrows  of  time 
spent  before  the  mast,  and  God  alone  knows 
what  other  outlandish  callings  that  roving  men 
may  follow,  kept  their  counsel  and  smiled. 

"Sonny,  I  guess  I  am  down  on  the  books  of 
some  ship  that  sails  a  few  weeks  after  we  get 
back.  Another  crowd,  another  skipper  and 
mates,  and  another  voyage."  Old  Smith  was  as 
nearly  sentimental  as  it  was  possible  for  him  to 
be,  and  still  be  Old  Smith.  "Yes,  I  like  this  ship, 
but  how  in  hell  are  we  all  going  to  sign  on  again 


THE  LAND  OF  LANGUOR       249 

when  more  than  half  the  crowd  is  going  to  get 
married?" 

It  was  strange  how  thoughtful  the  hard  days 
of  hauling  that  chain  made  all  of  us.  Besides 
this,  the  Honolulu  climate  was  gradually  getting 
under  our  hardened  hides.  They  can  say  what 
they  like  about  the  Hawaiian  Islands  being  a 
"white  man's  country."  It  is  if  you  mean  a  white 
man  who  never  has  anything  harder  to  do  than 
to  tell  a  Kanaka  or  a  Jap  to  lift  the  burden.  The 
trades  do  blow,  and  it  is  lucky  for  the  inhabitants 
that  they  do,  otherwise,  the  Isthmus  of  Panama 
would  be  duplicated  out  in  the  broad  Pacific.  In 
spite  of  the  pleasing  winds  and  the  beautiful  clear 
weather,  things  are  a  bit  too  balmy  for  contin- 
ued physical  exertion.  Lifting  a  gin  rickey  is 
good  enough  exercise,  and  if  you  lift  them  often 
enough,  out  at  Sans  Souci,  for  instance,  you  can 
imagine  anything  you  like  about  the  Islands. 

Working  men  stay  home,  if  you  are  white,  let 
the  coolies  shoulder  the  physical  burdens;  but  if 
you  are  wealthy  and  also  lucky,  you  will  very 
likely  own  stock  in  a  sugar  plantation.  They 
were  paying  seventy-five  per  cent  dividends  in 
those  days,  and  this  is  so  even  now,  I  believe. 
Also  if  one  is  ambitious  to  put  pep  and  fire  into 
things,  seek  a  cooler  clime.  It  is  a  fact  that  the 


250  UNDER  SAIL 

white  people  of  the  Islands,  who  can  do  so,  spend 
a  part  of  their  time  on  the  coast  and  whenever 
possible,  prospective  mothers  go  to  the  coast  dur- 
ing the  time  of  their  pregnancy,  as  the  Hawaiian 
climate  seems  to  rob  them  of  much  of  the  neces- 
sary vitality  for  the  ordeal  of  birth. 

But  the  Islands  do  hold  a  magic,  all  pervading 
charm,  they  are  as  unlike  any  other  islands  as  it 
is  possible  for  them  to  be.  Honolulu,  with  its 
beautiful  villas,  with  its  modern  setting  amid  a 
glory  of  tropical  verdure,  springing  from  an  age 
old  fertile  humus,  bathed  in  tropic  sun,  cannot 
be  duplicated. 

On  getting  alongside  the  railroad  wharf, 
which  we  did  by  the  economical  and  laborious 
process  of  warping  across  the  harbor  by  use  of 
a  kedge  anchor,  we  found  that  the  greater  part 
of  the  day  had  gone  by,  a  day  that  started  at  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning  with  the  regular  wash- 
down  to  begin  things,  when  we  were  ordered  to 
carry  out  the  kedge  and  pick  up  our  moorings. 

Time  was  plentiful  with  us  in  those  days,  for 
the  eight  hour  schedule  had  never  been  heard 
of.  Mr.  Furuseth  and  Senator  La  Follette  were 
not  there  to  shield  us  from  cruel  fate,  and  besides, 
whatever  extra  drilling  was  done,  was  simply 
at  the  expense  of  sleep,  a  thing  under  the  com- 


THE  LAND  OF  LANGUOR      251 

plete  control  of  the  mate.  We  got  up  when  we 
were  told  to  by  the  mate,  as  Charlie  Horse  went 
aft  for  his  orders  each  evening,  and  when  extra 
work  was  to  be  done  he  was  instructed  accord- 
ingly. 

Once  alongside,  we  took  aboard  the  long  hard- 
wood sugar  chutes,  worn  smooth  by  endless  pol- 
ishing of  the  gunny  sack,  in  which  the  partly  re- 
fined sugar  is  shipped.  These  chutes  were  ar- 
ranged very  cleverly  by  Nigger  who  came 
aboard  with  a  shore  gang  of  stevedores.  The  in- 
clination must  be  just  right,  and  the  chutes  must 
be  placed  just  so,  in  order  to  prevent  spilling, 
where  it  is  necessary  to  cut  corners  in  order  to 
reach  the  farther  parts  of  the  hold.  We  were 
glad  that  natives  were  to  stow  the  ship;  in  fact 
this  work  is  mighty  technical,  and  we  never 
would  have  been  able  to  do  so  with  our  crew. 
Working  with  the  natives,  we  picked  up  a  lot 
of  knowledge  about  the  handling  of  sugar,  points 
that  were  to  be  of  much  use  to  me  in  later  years 
when  I  returned  to  the  islands  as  mate  of  a 
steamer. 

On  the  Railroad  Wharf  there  were  several 
lines  of  track  and  some  turnouts  carrying  short 
flat  cars  loaded  with  sugar  bags  all  safe  under 
huge  tarpaulins.  We  also  found  the  warehouse 


252  UNDER  SAIL 

pretty  well  stocked  with  it,  and  were  told  that 
when  we  once  started  to  load,  the  sugar  would 
pour  into  the  ship  in  a  constant  stream. 

That  night  we  again  put  up  our  mosquito  bars 
against  the  enemy  from  which  we  had  mercifully 
been  saved  during  the  few  days  in  the  stream. 
Tired  but  strangely  content,  we  sat  on  the  fo'c'sle 
head  in  the  evening  glow  or  walked  out  on  the 
stringpiece  of  the  railroad  wharf,  which  then 
jutted  far  into  the  harbor,  and  watched  the  lights 
aboard  the  U.  S.  S.  Bennington.  Except  Peter, 
we  had  made  no  friends  aboard  the  gunboat. 
They  seemed  like  men  of  a  different  world,  as 
indeed  they  were.  The  sounding  of  "taps"  over 
the  water,  the  clear  plaintive  notes  of  the  bugle, 
ended  our  day.  We  were  to  load  on  the  mor- 
row; at  last  we  were  to  start  on  the  final  half  of 
our  voyage,  with  the  taking  aboard  of  our  first 
bag  of  sugar. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

LOADING  SUGAR 

LOADING  a  deepwater  ship  with  sugar  in 
the  port  of  Honolulu  during  the  golden 
summer  days  of  the  young  Republic  was  a  lively 
business. 

"Hi  there!    On  the  dock!    Bear  a  hand  with 

that  sugar!    Shake  it  up  now !    Shake  it  up!    Do 

you  think  we  have  a  year  to  load  this  ship?    By 

-!    I'll  shake  you  up!    Yes,  me!    You  lazy 

black 1" 

"Pan!  Paul  Kaliopoulie!  kaue  Ki!  Ki!  O 
—  ooo  maloue  baue  Pau.  Likee  Pan  — /  Pan! 
pan!  pan!  Oh — ee  hakau!  pan!  pan!"  or  words  to 
that  effect,  according  to  the  phonetic  rendering. 
A  violent  protest  of  many  tongues,  bristling 
with  exclamation  points,  and  heated  Kanaka 
epithets,  rose  from  the  indignant  dock  gang. 
Glances  of  the  utmost  withering  scorn  were  shot 
up  out  of  the  hold  at  the  mate  standing  abreast 
of  the  main  hatch,  and  all  over  the  dock  shirts 
were  being  slipped  back  onto  the  silky  brown 

253 


254  UNDER  SAIL 

backs,  stripped  in  readiness  for  the  work  to  start. 
The  uproar  of  indignation  was  spontaneous,  and 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  racket  the  stocky  Japa- 
nese coolies  from  the  sugar  plantation  gangs,  and 
from  the  railroad  gang,  stood  around  in  sullen 
enjoyment  of  the  situation.  Aboard  ship  we  of 
the  crew  were  circumspect,  but  our  appreciation 
of  the  situation  was  keen. 

"What's  this?"  A  smart  looking  chap  in  a 
suit  of  khaki,  and  wearing  a  panama  hat,  stepped 
out  of  the  office  on  the  dock.  He  was  sun 
browned  and  efficient ;  springy  in  his  movements, 
a  natural  commander  of  men. 

"Pan !"  cried  a  dark  skinned  per- 
spiring stevy,  pointing  at  the  mate,  and  sending 
forth  another  shower  of  island  rhetoric.  The 
gang  foreman  of  the  shore  crowd  was  explain- 
ing, brown  face  shining  and  eyes  flashing  black 
and  white. 

"All  right!  I'll  see  about  it."  The  railroad 
superintendent  climbed  aboard  and  took  Mr. 
Zerk  aft,  out  of  earshot,  where  they  got  things 
settled.  Then  the  superintendent  went  back 
on  the  dock,  the  gang  foreman  got  an  ear- 
ful of  second  hand  apologies,  explanations 
and  promises.  Important  details  of  same  were 
passed  on  to  independent  Kanaka  citizens  by 


LOADING  SUGAR  255 

their  boss,  and  the  steam  winch  started  as 
the  shirts  again  were  slipped  off  of  the  silky 
brown  backs  of  the  workers.  We  are  off.  The 
first  sling  of  sugar  bags  shot  over  the  bulwark 
and  landed  on  the  platform  abreast  the  hatch  and 
four  Kanakas  started  sending  it  down  the  chutes 
like  lightning.  Bing!  Another  sling  dripped 
on  the  platform,  and  down  it  went.  The  action 
became  automatic,  the  brown  bodies  swayed  rap- 
idly, surely,  and  on  the  wharf  we  heard  them 
shouting  as  the  Jap  coolies  inched  along  another 
car  with  their  crow  bars.  I  was  stationed  at  a 
point  where  two  chutes  met  at  an  angle,  and  the 
yellow  bags  passed  me  in  rapid  succession,  slap- 
ping the  chute  with  a  smart  patter  as  they 
jumped  the  corner.  Soon  the  whole  thing  be- 
came a  matter  of  easy  routine.  This  was  living! 
What  an  easy  job!  The  dusky  gang  below, 
working  in  the  half  light  of  the  hold,  and  assisted 
by  the  crew,  were  placing  a  bottom  layer  of  su- 
gar bags  and  forward  stacking  and  stepping 
back  the  tiers,  "boulking"  it,  as  sailors  say,  for 
the  ends  of  the  hold  to  be  kept  clear. 

The  Hawaiian  sugar  is  only  partly  refined, 
and  of  a  dull  golden  color  when  the  sun  strikes 
it.  It  is  largely  granular,  the  particles  being 
almost  the  size  of  a  small  pea.  The  sacks,  made 


256  UNDER  SAIL 

of  gunny,  are  stamped  with  the  names  of  the 
various  plantations;  Ewa,  Laie,  Halawa,  Holua 
Loa,  Kilauea,  Makee,  Wailuku,  and  a  dozen  oth- 
ers, all  of  them  the  mystic  symbols  spelling 
wealth  to  their  fortunate  owners. 

They  weigh  in  the  neighborhood  of  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  pounds  of  the  limpest,  deadest, 
weight  in  the  world  and  without  decent  "ears" 
at  the  end  of  the  sack  to  afford  a  hold.  Fre- 
quently a  sack  would  break,  and  we  would  help 
ourselves  to  the  sugar.  The  taste  is  pleasant  at 
first,  and  we  were  remarkably  liberal  in  our  in- 
dulgence, perhaps  no  more  so  than  a  crew  of  girls 
would  be  if  they  were  loading  a  cargo  of  choco- 
late creams. 

The  sugar  as  it  comes  from  the  island  refiner- 
ies is  about  twice  as  sweet  as  the  white  granu- 
lated article.  To  a  crowd  accustomed  to  black 
jack  molasses  as  a  sweetener  for  their  coffee,  the 
sugar  was  a  wonderful  delicacy,  for  a  time.  Soon 
we  became  cloyed  with  the  taste,  and  for  weeks 
after  my  first  gorging  of  sweets,  I  took  my  coffee 
and  tea  without  it,  though  we  always  had  a  small 
keg  of  the  stuff  on  hand  forward  during  the  re- 
mainder of  the  voyage.  The  sweet  overpowering 
smell  of  the  sugar  soon  permeated  the  ship,  and  in 


LOADING  SUGAR  257 

the  heat  of  midday,  became  nauseating  to  us 
who  were  not  used  to  it. 

The  Kanaka  workers,  splendid  specimens, 
would  toss  the  heavy  sacks  with  apparent  ease, 
the  muscles  rippling  under  their  smooth  skins 
as  they  worked.  The  greatest  good  feeling  pre- 
vailed in  the  hold,  and  the  men  constantly  re- 
ferred to  our  mate  amid  sallies  of  laughter  for  it 
was  considered  a  great  victory  for  them  when 
the  superintendent  smoothed  matters  out. 

On  deck,  at  the  hatch,  and  on  the  wharf,  the 
tally  men  checked  the  loading  of  every  sling  and 
bag  of  sugar  that  went  into  the  hold.  The  plan- 
tation, the  railroad,  and  the  ship's  agents  had 
their  independent  checkers.  These  chaps,  mostly 
sedate  older  men,  well  educated,  apparently  well 
paid,  kept  the  neatest  tally  books  I  have  ever 
seen.  They  made  the  cleanest  little  marks  with 
very  sharp  pencils,  which  they  were  always  sharp- 
ening with  very  sharp  pen  knives;  little  marks 
four  in  a  row,  and  a  cross  for  every  fifth  bag. 
Before  the  end  of  each  day's  loading  these  very 
independent  tally  men  would  get  together  under 
the  foVsle  head,  or  behind  a  convenient  freight 
car  on  the  dock,  and  reconcile  all  differences,  thus 
proving  themselves  brothers  under  their  skins  to 
independent  folk  in  higher  stations.  Years  after- 


258  UNDER  SAIL 

ward,  I  recognized  some  of  these  same  tally  men, 
still  at  the  job  of  making  very  neat  little  marks 
and  crosses,  an  easy  job  no  doubt  and  well  worth 
while  if  it  contributed  toward  the  upkeep  of  a 
happy  family;  most  of  them  looked  like  settled 
benedicts. 

As  we  cleaned  out  the  warehouse,  the  sugar 
began  to  come  in  on  the  railroad  and  was  slung 
right  aboard  from  the  cars,  the  Japs  sending  the 
loaded  cars  along  by  pushing,  getting  them 
started  by  short  crow  bars,  used  as  levers  under 
the  wheels.  These  Japs  were  a  husky  lot  with 
very  able  bodies,  small  heads,  black  cropped 
hair,  often  wound  with  a  red  or  white  head  band. 
Most  of  them  had  dazzling  white  teeth  which 
they  constantly  exposed  by  expansive  grins;  al- 
together they  were  a  testimonial  to  a  rice  and  fish 
diet,  so  far  as  physical  wellbeing  is  concerned. 

The  days  at  the  sugar  wharf  were  among  the 
most  pleasant  of  our  stay  in  Honolulu,  and  like 
all  good  things  they  raced  away  with  disquieting 
swiftness.  Having  lighter  duties  to  perform,  we, 
were  not  so  dog  tired  at  night  and  enjoyed  our 
leisure  that  much  more.  Peter  continued  to 
make  progress  with  the  native  population  and  on 
one  eventful  night  was  presented  with  a  large 
jug  of  swipes,  as  a  token  of  esteem. 


LOADING  SUGAR  259 

Brenden,  Axel  and  I  were  up  on  Nuuanu 
Street,  in  the  vicinity  of  Merchant,  watching  the 
shifting  crowds  as  we  wandered  aimlessly  about. 
Presently  we  spied  Peter,  coming  toward  us,  car- 
rying his  jug.  The  street  was  fairly  crowded, 
and  going  ahead  of  us,  toward  Peter,  was  a  one- 
legged  man;  a  pugnacious  individual  who 
brought  down  his  iron  shod  peg  with  loud  deter- 
mination. The  wooden  leg  yawed  badly,  sailing 
at  least  three  sheets  in  the  wind,  and  the  flag  side- 
walk was  none  too  wide  for  him.  Coming  up  to 
Peter,  he  lurched  suddenly  to  port,  taking  our 
shipmate  squarely  on  the  bow,  and  the  three  of 
them,  all  carrying  cargo,  Peter,  the  Peg  Leg, 
and  the  Jug  of  Swipes,  rolled  into  the  dusty 
gutter. 

A  fight  started  right  there.  The  Peg,  to  give 
him  a  proper  name,  attacking,  and  Peter  defend- 
ing himself  from  the  strange  fury  of  the  indig- 
nant cripple. 

"Separate  'em!  Don't  you  see  the  man's  got 
only  one  leg?" 

"Hi!  The  bloat  wi'  the  wooden  pin  is  fight- 
in'!  Blarst  'im! — look  at  'im!"  Sailors,  beach 
combers,  natives,  and  Orientals  were  gathering 
and  taking  voice. 

We  closed  to  render  assistance  as  the  crowd 


260  UNDER  SAIL 

formed  under  the  circle  of  light  from  a  street 
lamp.  The  two  combatants  sat  back  in  the  gut- 
ter after  a  second  exchange,  both  having  fought 
sitting  down. 

"What  are  we  fighting  for?"  cried  Peter,  cov- 
ered with  dirt  and  sweat. 

"I  dunno,"  admitted  the  stunned  Peg. 

"To  hell  with  this,  let's  quit!" 

"Naw.  I  wanna  fight!"  Peg  was  getting  back 
his  belligerent  wind.  "Wash  in  that  jug?"  he 
demanded,  seeing  the  prize. 

"Swipes!"  cried  Peter,  trying  to  retrieve  the 

jug- 

"Lesh  fight  fer  swipsh.  Al  ri!  Fight  fer 
swipsh!"  he  screamed  with  enthusiasm. 

The  Peg  made  another  lunge  at  Peter,  as  our 
boy  jumped  up  with  surprising  energy,  and  we 
grabbed  our  shipmate  and  hauled  him  out  of  the 
crowd  of  riff  raff  that  was  rapidly  increasing. 
Some  blue- jackets  from  the  Bennington  came 
up,  scenting  fun,  and  Axel  was  just  in  time  to 
beat  them  to  the  jug  of  swipes  that  lay  neglected 
in  the  dust.  He  passed  this  to  a  Kanaka  standing 
near,  a  boy  we  recognized  as  one  of  the  loading 
gang,  who  rapidly  departed  with  his  unexpected 
present,  while  we  hurried  off  with  Peter  in  the 
direction  of  Fort  Street.  What  became  of  Peg 


LOADING  SUGAR  261 

is  unknown.  On  Fort  Street  we  were  attracted 
by  the  melody  of  Salvation  Army  music,  and  to 
wind  up  the  night,  watched  our  famous  Jimmy 
rouse  things  up  in  his  new  uniform,  his  chest  ex- 
panding visibly  as  he  ignored  us  and  pounded 
his  drum  with  added  zest. 

On  nights  such  as  this,  warm  and  sultry,  when 
the  trade  wind  was  not  over  strong,  the  smell 
from  the  Chinese  and  Japanese  stores  would 
come  out  into  the  streets  with  added  intensity. 
The  Chinese  merchants,  in  the  shadow  of  their 
open  front  stores,  would  entertain  their  families 
and  friends  of  an  evening  with  interminable  jab- 
berings  that  must  have  been  mighty  interesting 
to  them.  I  used  to  wonder  what  these  indus- 
trious law  abiding  citizens  found  to  talk  about; 
now  I  realize  that,  except  to  those  who  were 
blind  or  deaf,  the  Honolulu  nights  could  hardly 
be  long  enough  for  them  to  discuss  half  of  the 
peculiar  doings  of  the  daffy  white  people  residing 
in  that  busy  little  town,  in  those  stirring  days  of 
the  Republic. 

To  a  foremast  hand,  a  common  sailor  in  the 
fo'c'sle  of  a  deepwaterman,  the  point  of  view  is 
almost  on  a  level  with  that  of  the  perpetually  un- 
assimilated  Oriental.  The  sailor  sees,  he  hears, 
and  if  he  is  gifted  with  brains  that  think,  he  must 


262  UNDER  SAIL 

needs  wonder  at  the  strange  ways  of  folks  who 
dress  themselves  so  well,  who  live  on  the  most 
appetizing  foods,  perform  very  little  hard  work, 
and  who  do  themselves  to  the  height  of  their  abil- 
ity. That  we  had  a  few  philosophers  among  the 
crowd  forward  goes  without  saying ;  men  who  had 
lived,  and  who  had  had  their  fling,  and  for  all  I 
know  to  the  contrary  are  having  it  again.  I 
wager  Kitchen,  if  not  killed  by  this  time,  has 
mounted  to  more  enlightened  planes;  perhaps 
back  to  a  station  from  which  he  temporarily 
stepped  down  to  sign  articles  in  the  ship  A.  J. 
Fuller  for  the  voyage  around  Cape  Horn. 

We  did  a  lot  of  swapping  of  books  and  maga- 
zines among  the  craft  in  the  harbor.  The  poor 
starved  crowd  from  the  British  Monarch  were 
first  over  the  side  with  bundles  of  old  magazines, 
paper  covered  novels,  and  mind  destroying  sheets 
called  "Tit  Bits,"  and  "Snappy  Bits,"  periodi- 
cals of  a  peculiar  type.  After  reading  one  of 
them  for  an  hour  (and  the  funny  part  is  you 
keep  on  reading  and  reading) ,  it  is  a  sort  of  men- 
tal dope,  nothing  remains  but  a  vague  idea  of  a 
lot  of  short  paragraphs  full  of  piffle. 

We  got  a  number  of  Clark  Russell  stories  in 
this  exchange,  though  we  really  had  little  to  give 
in  return.  All  hands  read  these  yarns  and  while 


LOADING  SUGAR  263 

there  was  much  grumbling  about  "too  much 
skirt,"  the  sailor  was  recognized. 

Hitchen  and  Old  Smith  were  the  best  read 
among  the  crowd,  with  Australia  a  close  second ; 
leaving  out  of  course  that  biblical  student,  the 
dear  departed  Jimmy.  Frenchy  also  was  enti- 
tled to  a  place  among  the  intellectuals  of  the 
fo'c'sle;  he  read  Voltaire,  had  several  copies  of 
his  works  in  the  original,  as  well  as  shopworn 
copies  of  Les  Miserables,  and  the  Toilers  of  the 
Sea.  Frenchy  read  English  with  difficulty.  Axel 
also  was  handicapped  in  literary  discussions  by 
his  lack  of  English  though  he  waded  through 
books  in  that  language,  having  been  taught  it 
at  school;  of  course  he  spoke  English  well,  as  in- 
deed all  did,  barring  a  bit  of  slack  here  and  there, 
that  merely  served  to  give  the  fo'c'sle  individu- 
ality. 

One  thing  I  will  always  remember  with  a  great 
deal  of  pleasure  is  the  fact  that  Axel  was  the 
first  one  to  give  me  a  definite  story  of  the  An- 
dree  North  Pole  Expedition,  he  having  tried  for, 
and  almost  succeeded  in  going  along.  A  univer- 
sity professor  took  the  place  he  wanted  at  the 
last  moment,  the  scholar  going  to  perform  the 
duties  of  a  common  jack  in  order  to  be  with  An- 
dree.  I  recall  the  fo'c'sle  discussion  of  this  ill 


264  UNDER  SAIL 

fated  venture,  the  final  outcome  of  which  was 
still  in  doubt.  I  felt  at  that  time  that  Andree 
had  a  good  chance  to  accomplish  his  end,  and  I 
still  think  so;  the  luck  simply  ran  against  him. 
Nine  years  later  it  was  to  be  my  fortune  to  have 
a  part  in  a  similar  expedition  under  Wellman,  ex- 
cept that  a  dirigible  balloon,  of  which  I  was  navi- 
gator, was  employed.  We  were  more  fortunate 
in  so  far  as  we  got  back.  Andree,  Strindberg, 
and  Fraenkel  were  not  fools  as  some  think,  but 
fearless  scientists  who  took  a  legitimate  chance 
to  explore  the  unknown  polar  regions;  fate  was 
against  them,  but  even  so,  they  have  left  the 
memory  of  a  brave  deed  inscribed  on  the  bright 
scroll  of  Swedish  honor. 

Old  Smith  had  a  dog-eared  copy  of  Marcus 
Aurelius  that  had  served  its  noble  duty  in  dis- 
cussions with  Jimmy  Marshall,  while  the  latter 
was  deep  in  the  wisdom  of  King  Solomon.  I 
don't  know  what  Brenden  read,  but  he  was  a 
great  letter  writer,  and  often  received  mail. 
When  taking  pictures  one  day,  Brenden  asked 
me  to  take  a  picture  of  him  reading  a  letter  from 
his  girl  Hilda.  The  Letters  of  One  Brenden, 
Able  Seaman  on  the  ship  A.  J.  Fuller,  would 
certainly  make  quaint  reading,  could  they  be  got 


LOADING  SUGAR  265 

at  and  translated,  for  Brenden  conducted  his  cor- 
respondence in  German. 

Mike,  and  Martin  and  Fred  were  mere  fillers 
in.  Beef  on  a  rope,  and  able  eaters,  they  remain 
as  memories,  indistinct  and  still  quite  clear;  they 


BREXDEN    READING    LETTER 


never  succeeded  in  making  an  impression  on  the 
life  of  the  ship  but  were  the  background  of  that 
distant  time,  seldom  saying  anything  that  was  lis- 
tened to.  Of  Tommy,  or  the  more  dignified 
Tom,  we  will  learn  more  later  on.  He  was  a  man 
with  a  past,  and  I  hope  a  future,  for  he  certainly 
earned  the  right  to  a  very  bright  one  while  on 
the  Fuller;  that  future,  however,  did  not  lie  on 
the  sea.  As  high  admiral  of  a  pickle  barge  and 
fleet  commander  of  a  whole  flotilla  of  shelf  jugs 


266  UNDER  SAIL 

full  of  vinegar  and  preserved  edibles,  in  his  own 
delicatessen  store,  he  may  have  risen  to  success. 

Scouse  never  read  anything;  he  was  too  busy 
thinking,  and  as  he  did  less  and  less  talking  as 
the  voyage  lengthened,  we  concluded  he  must  be 
a  very  deep  fellow.  Scouse  had  points,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  after  all  the  hazing  afloat  and 
skinning  ashore,  he  learned  and  digested  lessons 
of  the  utmost  value. 

Peter,  of  whom  so  much  has  been  said  and  so 
little  told,  was  in  a  way  the  most  interesting 
•character  on  board.  He  was,  and  no  doubt  still 
is,  one  of  the  most  generous  souls  alive.  If  he 
is  rich,  it  is  certainly  for  no  lack  of  a  wild  desire 
to  share  his  last  cent  with  any  unfortunate  that 
might  cross  his  path.  Peter  started  to  sea  in 
deep  water  sail  for  reasons  that  do  him  credit. 
He  saw  a  way  to  recoup  his  health  and  at  the 
same  time  bring  to  a  conclusion  an  intense  amour 
that  seemed  to  lead  directly  to  an  early  grave. 
He  shipped  on  the  F idler,  leaving  a  large  wash 
behind  in  the  tender  care  of  his  sweetheart.  No 
boarding  master  captured  part  of  his  advance, 
and  for  a  week  afterward  at  least,  so  Peter  said, 
two  coffee  pots  must  have  stood  on  a  certain 
N.  Y.  kitchen  window,  as  a  signal  that  his  laun- 


LOADING  SUGAR  267 

dry  was  ready  to  be  taken  away.     The  lady's 
husband  was  a  night  clerk  in  the  post  office. 

The  career  of  Peter  would  serve  as  a  theme 
for  a  first  class  psychological  novel  with  the  plots 
of  half  a  dozen  red-hot  problem  plays  added  by 
way  of  good  measure.  He  started  life  with  the 
curse  of  good  looks,  of  the  romantic  type,  dark 
and  interesting,  his  rather  long  silky  locks,  curled 
slightly,  and  his  regular  features  were  classic. 
Deep  brown  eyes,  and  a  very  fine,  rich  voice 
completed  his  downfall.  As  reporter  on  a  coun- 
try paper,  Peter  told  us  how  he  would  write 
up  the  stories  of  the  socialist  meetings,  by  send- 
ing a  boy  around  to  the  local  hall  to  see  if  the 
lights  were  lit.  His  adventures  as  foreman  in  a 
corset  factory,  as  cadet  in  the  American  Line, 
and  as  a  social  worker  in  the  humble  ranks  of 
those  who  uplift  the  sailor  ashore,  were  chapters 
in  the  start  of  a  busy  life. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

GOOD-BYE   TO   HONOLULU 

AS  the  hold  began  to  fill  up,  the  top  of  the 
sugar  was  brought  inboard  from  the  wings 
to  an  apex,  and  the  lower  cargo  space  not  quite 
filled.  The  'tween  deck  was  then  loaded  in  or- 
der to  carry  the  dead  weight  sufficiently  high  to 
prevent  the  ship  from  being  stiff;  to  make  her 
more  "sea  kindly"  as  sailors  say.  Theoretical 
questions  of  metacentric  height,  of  the  center  of 
buoyancy,  and  their  relation  to  stability  never 
bothered  the  captain  or  Mr.  Zerk.  But  as  the 
loading  progressed  they  paid  a  lot  of  attention  to 
her  trim  and  in  the  placement  of  the  last  part  of 
the  cargo,  the  mate  assumed  complete  charge. 
The  Fuller  sailed  best  trimmed  a  few  feet  by  the 
stern,  but  in  the  final  loading  this  extra  depth 
aft  was  cut  down  to  a  single  foot  as  a  matter  of 
experiment,  the  mean  draft  loaded  being  seven- 
teen feet  eight  inches,  giving  her  the  usual  free- 
board of  about  four  feet  or  three  inches  to  every 
foot  of  draft,  according  to  the  old  rule.  Draft 

268 


GOOD-BYE  TO  HONOLULU     269 

is  shown  by  figures  cut  into  the  stem  and  stern 
post ;  these  are  six  inches  high  and  the  figure  rests 
on  the  mark  it  indicates. 

In  addition  to  the  sugar  from  the  railroad,  we 
had  steamers  of  the  inter-island  trade  come  along 
side  and  discharge  their  cargoes  right  onto  our 
deck.  These  craft  have  been  touched  upon  be- 
fore. The  Mawna  Loa,  one  of  the  largest  at  that 
time,  was  quite  a  passenger  carrier.  As  I  think 
of  the  inter-island  steamers  they  always  appear 
to  have  been  somewhat  out  of  drawing,  when 
compared  with  the  beautiful  sailers  of  those  days. 

During  the  final  week  of  loading,  when  we 
had  closed  the  'tween  deck  hatches  to  the  lower 
hold  and  were  putting  down  the  finishing  tiers 
of  cargo,  we  paid  our  last  visits  ashore.  I  bid 
"good  bye"  to  Mr.  Mclnerny  and  the  good 
friends  I  had  made,  both  in  society  and  out.  We 
went  over  to  the  British  Monarch,  Hitchen  and 
I,  for  a  last  visit.  The  mates  had  a  bit  of  a 
"blow"  for  us,  hot  toddy,  which  tasted  right  in 
spite  of  the  warm  weather,  cigars,  and  some 
Huntley  and  Palmer  biscuits  broken  out  of  their 
stores  for  this  special  occasion.  Of  course  we 
promised  to  write,  and  never  did,  and  Mr.  Gore 
gave  me  an  old  copy  of  Raper,  he  having  two 
of  them,  as  a  parting  gift.  To  Hitchen  he  gave 


270 


UNDER  SAIL 


GOOD-BYE  TO  HONOLULU     271 

a  tin  of  navy  cut  that  had  been  sent  out  to  him 
from  England.  They  were  hoping  for  word  of 
a  charter  to  be  on  their  way,  and  thought  they 
might  load  sugar  for  New  York,  when  we 
planned  to  meet  again  as  sailors  sometimes  do. 

With  what  little  change  we  had  left,  we  laid 
in  a  few  stores  for  the  voyage  home,  a  few 
bunches  of  bananas,  odds  and  ends  of  clothing, 
and  the  like.  I  purchased  a  pair  of  mittens,  af- 
ter a  search  in  that  tropic  city,  as  mine  had  worn 
out  in  hauling  at  the  gear.  The  most  startling 
addition  to  our  life  forward  was  a  green  parrot 
that  Frenchy  brought  aboard,  having  swapped 
him  at  the  Union  saloon  for  a  small  brig,  rigged 
in  a  bay  rum  bottle.  This  brig  had  been  a  long 
time  making,  and  Frenchy  only  let  go  of  it  when 
he  was  assured  of  a  prize.  The  bird,  hailing 
from  God  knows  where,  as  I  don't  believe  they 
are  native  to  the  islands,  was  to  be  a  present  to 
his  sister  Madeleine.  Frenchy  named  him 
Jaques,  at  once  vulgarized  to  common  Jake,  and 
he  was  hung  in  his  wooden  cage  under  the  fo'- 
c'sle  head. 

Just  before  hauling  into  the  stream,  Captain 
Nichols  shipped  three  Kanakas  to  take  the  places 
left  vacant  by  Mr.  Stoddard,  Jimmy,  and  Joe. 
This  made  it  certain  that  someone  from  the  crew 


272  UNDER  SAIL 

would  be  taken  aft  as  second  mate.  The  Ka- 
nakas were  a  rare  assortment.  Kahemuku,  a 
lanky,  poetical  looking  fellow  with  long  hair  and 
dreamy  eyes,  hailed  from  Tahiti.  The  two  oth- 
ers, both  of  them  short  and  somewhat  stout, 
were  from  Honolulu  and  should  have  known  bet- 
ter than  to  ship  around  the  Horn.  John  Aahee 
was  assigned  to  the  starboard  watch;  he  was 
clean  shaven  and  dull,  a  poor  devil  who  merely 
existed  after  we  got  to  sea.  Black  Joe,  so  the 
mate  called  him,  since  his  name  was  beyond  or- 
dinary understanding,  was  fully  whiskered  with 
a  bunch  of  fuzz  that  looked  like  the  stuffing  of 
an  old  hair  mattress.  Joe  had  a  peculiar  idea 
about  the  relation  between  officers  and  men,  and 
never  could  get  this  straightened  out.  Black 
Joe  and  Kahemuku  were  assigned  to  the  port 
watch  to  take  the  place  of  Jimmy  and  Joe. 

Some  of  the  men  thought  that  I  would  be 
called  aft  as  second  mate.  Ambitious  as  I  was 
for  preferment,  I  realized  that  the  billet  would 
be  about  the  worst  thing  that  could  happen  to 
me.  Whatever  the  captain  may  have  thought 
about  it,  the  mate  was  against  me,  as  we  re- 
mained at  loggerheads  while  I  visited  with  my 
"dude  friends,"  which  I  did  at  intervals  as  long 
as  we  were  in  port. 


GOOD-BYE  TO  HONOLULU     273 

Old  Smith  was  the  logical  candidate  for  the 
job,  and  the  mate  wanted  him.  Others  were  like 
Barkis,  but  the  strange  part  was  that  the  real 
sailors  in  the  crew,  the  men  who  knew  enough 
to  stand  a  watch  at  sea  and  work  the  ship,  were 
the  most  anxious  to  side  step  the  honor. 

Having  loaded  our  sugar,  the  chutes  were 
sent  ashore,  and  we  again  hauled  out  into  the 
stream,  this  time  for  good.  We  at  once  battened 
down  the  hatches,  putting  on  triple  tarpaulins, 
and,  having  taken  down  the  cargo  pendants,  we 
again  rove  the  seagoing  running  gear;  after  a 
day  of  scrubbing,  during  which  the  spars  were 
washed  clean  of  dust,  we  then  began  to  bend  sail. 
This  took  us  the  greater  part  of  two  days  while 
we  sent  aloft  the  fine  weather  canvas.  Then  fol- 
lowed another  general  washing  down  and  clean- 
ing over  the  side,  and  the  ship  A.  J.  Fuller  looked 
herself  again.  Loaded  to  her  deep  sea  trim,  with 
yards  squared  to  a  hair  and  canvas  furled  with 
a  harbor  stow,  we  were  as  flash  a  ship  as  ever 
hailed  from  the  port  of  New  York — clean,  and 
seamanlike  in  every  detail.  Fancy  manropes  were 
got  out  for  the  gangways,  the  galley  smoke  stack 
was  given  a  coat  of  black  paint,  making  "Charlie 
Noble,"  as  this  piece  of  humble  but  necessary  sea 


274  UNDER  SAIL 

furniture  is  called,  as  sporty  as  any  part  of  the 
old  girl. 

In  the  meantime,  while  our  busy  little  ship 
world  revolved  within  its  restricted  orbit,  events 
of  historic  importance  were  happening  in  the 
great  arena  beyond  the  seas.  Dewey  had  cap- 
tured Manila  and  the  first  troops  to  go  out  from 
the  United  States  were  expected  in  Honolulu,  en 
route  to  the  Philippines.  Preparations  to  wel- 
come them  of  a  gigantic  nature  were  carried  out 
by  the  enthusiastic  citizens  of  Honolulu,  the 
American  element  being  in  the  ascendant.  A  tre- 
mendous flag  was  got  ready,  to  be  raised  over  the 
railroad  wharf,  and  huge  stores  of  sandwiches 
were  made  and  held  in  readiness  for  the  soldiers. 
Also  every  barrel  and  bottle  of  beer  in  the  place 
was  put  on  ice  against  an  emergency.  The  cit- 
izens were  determined  that  hunger  should  not 
outflank  the  U.  S.  forces,  if  by  any  means  it  could 
be  prevented,  nor  was  old  General  Thirst  to  be 
allowed  to  down  a  single  man.  It  was  also  de- 
cided that  U.  S.  legal  tender  was  not  to  be  ac- 
cepted when  offered  for  refreshment  by  a  man 
wearing  the  uniform  of  Uncle  Sam,  showing  how 
war  fever  (for  a  time)  upsets  the  commercial 
mind. 

The  transports  City  of  Pekin,  City  of  Sydney, 


GOOD-BYE  TO  HONOLULU     275 

and  Australia,  came  into  the  harbor  on  June 
first  carrying  twenty-two  hundred  troops.  These 
vessels  were  under  convoy  of  the  U.  S.  S.  Charles- 
ton. The  day  was  a  gala  one  and  in  the  midst  of 
the  excitement  we  received  our  orders  to  sail  for 
Delaware  Breakwater.  This  came  as  a  surprise 
as  we  expected  to  be  sent  to  Frisco  because  of 
the  possibility  of  our  being  picked  up  by  a  Span- 
iard in  view  of  the  uncertain  state  of  affairs  in 
the  Atlantic.  We  were  then  in  the  stream,  wist- 
ful gazers  at  the  harbor  activities  and  the  glimpses 
of  great  times  ashore  afforded  by  the  pier  heads 
and  the  esplanade. 

With  the  coming  of  our  orders,  Captain  Nich- 
ols sent  out  such  fresh  provisions  as  deep  water 
ships  usually  take  to  sea  with  them.  A  potato 
bin  had  been  constructed  under  the  fo'c'sle  head 
in  a  place  that  would  be  fairly  dry  and  having 
a  good  circulation  of  air.  Into  this  we  put  about 
a  ton  of  the  tubers.  Some  fresh  meat  was  sent 
aboard,  and  a  few  bunches  of  bananas  strung  in 
the  after  wheel  house  for  the  cabin  mess.  A  num- 
ber of  our  men  had  been  offered  billets  on  coast- 
ers, and  this  was  specially  so  during  the  last  few 
weeks  of  our  loading.  The  pay  day  of  close  to 
fifty  dollars  already  on  the  books,  and  the  pros- 
pect of  landing  in  New  York  with  almost  eighty 


276  UNDER  SAIL 

dollars  added  to  it,  was  a  prospect  hard  to  leave, 
especially  since  the  plans  for  great  futures  de- 
pended absolutely  upon  these  prospective  nest 
eggs.  The  fact,  however,  was  that  we  were  a 
well  selected  crowd  and  liked  to  sail  together. 
The  captain  was  absolutely  square  and  the  mate 
was  a  sailor  from  his  toes  to  his  truck;  we  were 
too  much  accustomed  to  the  routine  on  the  Fuller 
to  want  to  change.  As  far  as  I  was  concerned, 
I  was  happy  to  remain  on  board  and  work  back 
around  old  Cape  Stiff  again.  Mr.  Mclnerny  had 
offered  to  have  me  released  from  the  articles  and 
wanted  me  to  take  up  my  residence  in  the  islands, 
telling  me  of  the  many  advantages,  much  after 
the  manner  of  Robinson  Crusoe's  old  father,  when 
that  wilful  lad  determined  upon  the  sea  as  a  ca- 
reer. I,  too,  had  old  Crusoe's  trouble  pretty  well 
soaked  into  my  system.  I  was  really  an  en- 
thusiast about  going  to  sea,  in  spite  of  the  hard 
knocks,  so  I  made  up  my  mind  to  complete  the 
voyage. 

On  Sunday,  five  days  before  we  sailed,  the  cap- 
tain called  Old  Smith  aft  and  formally  offered 
him  the  billet  as  second  mate.  Old  Smith  re- 
fused to  move  out  of  the  fo'c'sle,  and  came  for- 
ward with  a  fat  cigar  in  his  teeth,  saying,  "The 
skipper's  all  right.  He  sure  is  all  right." 


GOOD-BYE  TO  HONOLULU     277 

After  that  we  were  too  busy  to  think  anything 
more  of  the  vexed  problem,  being  horsed  about 
at  bending  sail  and  preparing  for  sea.  On  the 
eve  of  our  departure  we  were  sitting  on  the 
fo'c'sle  head  watching  the  crowded  harbor,  the 
comings  and  goings  from  the  men  o'  war  and 
transports,  and  listening  to  the  bugle  calls.  We 
had  washed  up  after  the  day's  work,  and  the  mess 
cooks  had  gone  to  the  galley  for  the  kids. 

"We'll  sleep  our  last  night  in,  tonight,"  ven- 
tured Frenchy,  as  we  perched  on  the  heel  of  the 
starboard  cathead.  It  was  a  thought  that  came 
to  all  of  us. 

"Grub  O!"  called  Fred  from  the  space  about 
the  fore  pin  rail,  where  both  watches  ate  together 
while  in  port.  We  sat  around  the  kids,  under  the 
tall  gear  of  the  foremast  rising  overhead,  the  faint 
peppering  of  stars  showing  between  the  yards  as 
we  began  our  supper. 

"Here  comes  the  mate,"  said  Martin,  who  was 
perched  on  the  short  ladder  leading  to  the  fo'c'sle 
head,  from  the  port  side  of  the  house. 

"Wot  of  it,  let  him  come." 

Presently  Mr.  Zerk  stood  in  the  gangway 
looking  at  us,  he  bulked  big,  and  smoked  a  strong 
cigar.  This  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  in- 
truded upon  our  meals  during  our  stay  in  port. 


278  UNDER  SAIL 

"Where's  the  second  mate?"  he  asked  pleasant- 

iy- 

Most  of  us  looked  around  anxiously,  half  ex- 
pecting the  old  second  mate  would  bob  up  from 
some  dark  corner. 

"Come  on,  where  is  he?"  The  mate  was  evi- 
dently enjoying  his  little  game.  "Where  is  he 
now?"  came  the  question  again,  but  in  a  sharp 
tone  such  as  we  usually  associated  with  coming 
trouble.  "Come  on,  where  is  he?"  Suddenly  he 
started  to  laugh;  of  course  we  all  joined  him  in 
a  sort  of  nervous  chorus. 

"Ho,  there  he  is  hiding  behind  the  kid!  Our 
new  second  mate,  Mr.  Morstad!  Well,  well, 
well!"  and  this  is  how  Tommy,  most  unexpected 
of  candidates,  became  Mr.  Morstad,  second  mate 
of  the  ship  A.  J.  Fuller. 

"Lay  aft,"  said  the  mate,  as  he  turned  to  go, 
"the  steward  has  your  dinner  ready,  and  don't 
forget  to  bring  your  napkin." 

Tommy  was  choking  with  astonishment, 
speechless,  and  miserable.  None  of  us  laughed 
at  the  last  cruel  thrust ;  in  fact  we  felt  sorry  for 
Tommy,  but  as  soon  as  we  saw  him  stop  eating 
the  foVsle  grub,  with  the  quick  perception  that 
better  things  awaited  him  aft,  a  lively  discussion 
arose. 


GOOD-BYE  TO  HONOLULU     279 

"Call  him  Mr.  Morstad!"  thundered  Australia. 
"I  won't  have  no  disrespect  here  just  because  Mr. 
Morstad  ain't  had  the  bringin'  up  you  an'  me  has. 
No,  sir,  I  have  some  respect  for  the  officers  of 
this  ship,  I  have." 

There  was  a  lot  more  in  a  similar  vein.  Volun- 
teers offered  to  carry  his  chest  aft,  and  did  every 
thing  but  lift  it,  poor  Tommy  having  to  drag 
it  along  the  deck  until  he  got  to  the  waist,  when 
Chips  came  out  of  his  den  and  helped  him  the 
rest  of  the  way.  It  was  dark  then,  and  the  gong 
for  the  second  cabin  table  no  doubt  compensated 
Tommy  for  all  the  tortures  of  his  departure. 

"I'm  damn  glad  he  ain't  in  my  watch,"  said 
Brenden,  and  all  of  us  to  port  felt  the  same  way. 
Before  Tommy  had  time  to  adjust  himself  to 
his  new  condition,  the  kicking  started  to  star- 
board. 

In  this  particular  episode  of  the  voyage  Mr. 
Zerk  departed  as  far  from  the  traditions  of  the 
sea  as  it  was  possible  for  him  to  go.  The  next 
morning,  as  we  got  under  way  to  sea,  Captain 
Nichols  made  it  a  point  to  show  public  respect 
to  the  new  second  officer.  It  was  "Mr.  Morstad, 
this,"  and  "How  do  you  head,  sir?"  all  of  which 
pleased  Tom  immensely,  and  was  the  right  and 
proper  thing  to  do. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

HOMEWARD  BOUND 

And  we're  off  to  Mother  Carey 
(Walk  her  down  to  Mother  Carey !) 
Oh,  we're  bound  for  Mother  Carey  where  she  feeds 
her  chicks  at  sea ! 

Kipling. 

BARE  feet,  gripping  the  cool  deck  of  the 
fo'c'sle  head,  still  wet  with  the  washdown, 
pattered  in  rhythmic  circles  to  the  music  of  the 
pawls,  sounding  over  the  early  morning  stillness 
of  Honolulu  Harbor.  We  were  heaving  up  the 
anchor,  having  already  taken  in  our  quarter 
moorings.  The  pilot  was  aboard ;  Captain  Nich- 
ols stumped  the  poop  with  his  characteristic  jerky 
stride,  all  business;  second  mate  Tom  was  aloft 
with  a  half  dozen  hands,  and  the  pleasant  swish 
of  falling  canvas,  and  the  rattle  of  blocks  and 
running  gear,  sounded  above  as  they  cast  off  the 
long  sea  gaskets.  About  us  in  the  harbor  the 
men  o'  war  and  transports  lay  silent  to  their  moor- 
ings, sleeping  off  the  effect  of  a  day  and  night 

280 


HOMEWARD  BOUND  281 

of  revelry  ashore.  Mr.  Zerk  stood  out  over  the 
bow  on  the  port  cathead,  his  hand  on  the  catf all, 
as  he  leaned  far  over. 

"Five  fathom  shackle  at  the  water!"  he  sung 
out. 

"All  right!  Bring  her  short!"  came  the  order 
from  the  poop. 

"Aye,  aye,  sir!  Walk  her  up,  up,  boys!  Walk 
her  up,  and  wake  Tier  up" 

Old  Smith  got  the  tune  and  presently  the  dirge 
of  an  anchor  chantey  echoed  across  the  water  as 
we  bent  our  weight  against  the  capstan  bars. 

"Paddy  come  back  and  turn  in  your  slack, 
Heave  round  the  capstan,  heave  a  pawl,  heave  a  pawl. 
We're   leavin'    Honolulu   girls,   and   never   will   come 

back, 

Heave  round  the  capstan,  heave  a  pawl,  heave  a  pawl. 
An'  happy  days  all  lie  behind,  good  bye  to  swipes  and 

rum, 
Heave  round  the  capstan,  heave  a  pawl,  heave  a  pawl." 

"Short  stay,  sir!"  bawled  the  mate,  and  we 
stopped  our  song.  The  faint  echo  of  a  cheer 
wafted  across  the  harbor;  we  recognized  the  hail 
from  our  friends  on  the  British  Monarch,  watch- 
ing to  see  us  off. 

"Break  her  out,  sir!"  answered  the  captain, 


282  UNDER  SAIL 

sending  his  voice  along  the  length  of  the  ship  in 
sharp,  snappy  syllables. 

"Aye,  aye,  sir!" 

At  "short  stay"  I  was  ordered  to  the  wheel 
and  as  I  slipped  the  spokes  from  the  beckets,  the 
crowd  at  the  bars  again  put  their  beef  to  the 
cable,  and  the  anchor  left  bottom.  The  tug  fas- 
tened to  our  quarter  got  her  signal  from  the  pilot; 
we  heard  the  jangle  of  bells  in  her  engine  room; 
we  commenced  to  move. 

"Hard  a  port!''  ordered  the  pilot. 

"Hard  over,  sir!" 

"Steady  so!  Steady  so!"  We  were  heading 
toward  the  old  marine  railway,  the  line  of  the 
Esplanade  having  swung  under  the  jib  guys  with 
remarkable  swiftness,  as  I  turned  the  wheel  to 
meet  her. 

"Port  handsomely!"  I  gave  her  wheel.  "Port, 
I  say!  Hard  a  port!" 

"Hard  a  port,  sir!"  Again  the  shore  shot 
past  her  bow,  and  then  the  blue  water  of  the 
harbor  mouth  lay  fair  ahead. 

"Steady!    Starb'd  a  point!    Steady  so!" 

We  were  pointing  out  through  the  narrow  en- 
trance of  Honolulu  Harbor.  Forward  they  had 
hooked  the  cat  and  the  fall  was  brought  "two 


HOMEWARD  BOUND  283 

blocks"  while  the  great  hook  hung  upright,  drip- 
ping the  slimy  harbor  silt. 

The  mate  then  assumed  charge  of  the  deck, 
sheeting  home  and  hoisting  away  as  fast  as  the 
men  could  man  the  ropes.  A  light  off  shore 
breeze  on  the  port  quarter  bellied  out  the  canvas. 
The  buoys,  barrel  buoy  to  starboard,  spar  buoy 
to  port,  slipped  past  us.  Presently  the  tug  start- 
ed to  drag  her  head  to  port,  as  the  ship's  way 
increased,  and  I  had  to  give  her  wheel  to  meet 
her. 

"Guess  we  are  all  right  now,  Pilot." 

"All  right,  Captain.  All  clear  ahead  and  plenty 
of  water  from  here  to  the  Horn.  Good  luck  and 
a  quick  passage." 

They  shook  hands,  the  pilot  waved  a  farewell 
to  the  mate  down  in  the  waist,  then  jumped  onto 
the  wheel  house  of  the  tug  from  our  mizzen  chan- 
nels. A  few  squeaky  toots  by  way  of  a  salute 
as  she  cast  off,  and  the  tug  swung  sharply  about 
and  headed  back  to  port;  the  last  link  binding  us 
to  Honolulu  had  been  severed. 

At  eight  bells,  breakfast  time,  I  was  relieved 
and,  on  my  way  forward,  I  stopped  for  a  part- 
ing glance  back  at  Honolulu.  What  was  my 
surprise  when  I  found  it  well  down  on  the  hori- 
zon, the  Island  of  Oahu  stretching  a  mere  blur 


284  UNDER  SAIL 

of  bluish  green  across  our  wake.  A  lump  rose 
in  my  throat  for  I  did  wish  to  have  another  look 
at  that  fair  city  of  dreams,  but  it  was  already 
a  thing  of  the  hazy  past;  a  figment  of  memory; 
the  port  of  phantasmagoria;  a  jumble  of  many 
colored  people,  of  smells,  of  music ;  of  green  and 
restful  bowers,  of  feverish  energy  and  of  indo- 
lence, of  days  of  dirty,  sweaty  labor,  and  of 
nights  of  romantic  adventures.  And  what  of 
Jimmy  Marshall,  I  wondered,  left  behind  with 
his  uniform  and  drum? 

Yes,  we  were  out  to  sea  again,  the  cool  breeze 
wafting  us  along,  out  on  the  restless  ocean  as 
before,  months  and  months  ago  too  numerous  to 
remember,  when  we  sailed  to  the  eastward  with 
the  Navesink  Highlands  dropping  far  behind  us 
in  the  sunset.  Now  the  only  difference  was  the 
fact  that  the  Island  of  Captain  Cook,  the  first 
port  of  Stevenson  on  his  retirement  to  the  Pa- 
cific, and  that  vivid  stage  upon  which  Father  Da- 
mien  lived  and  died,  was  fading  away  far  to  the 
north. 

At  breakfast  we  again  separated  into  watches 
but  with  orders  to  turn  to  again,  as  the  first 
day  was  to  be  one  of  "all  hands."  We  were  glad 
to  a  man  that  the  homeward  passage  had  com- 
menced. The  drop  in  temperature  put  snap  into 


HOMEWARD  BOUND  285 

us  and  Australia  celebrated  our  departure  by 
tearing  down  the  dingy  mosquito  bar  triced  above 
his  bunk.  He  balled  this  up  and  hove  it  over  the 
side  with  the  remark,  "Here  goes  me  night  cage; 
good-bye  forever." 

The  breeze  was  blowing  strong,  a  splendid 
northeast  trade,  and  the  smooth  sea  made  our 
progress  something  very  cheering.  At  two  bells 
I  was  called  aft  and,  with  Brenden  and  Frenchy, 
helped  heave  the  log  chip  under  direction  of  Cap- 
tain Nichols. 

The  log  line,  soaked  with  water,  was  wound 
on  a  large  reel.  Brenden  stood  on  one  side  of 
the  wheel  house  and  held  this  over  his  head,  each 
hand  gripping  a  handle  of  the  reel  as  he  faced 
squarely  aft.  He  was  far  enough  forward  from 
the  taffrail  so  we  could  tend  the  line.  The  log 
chip,  a  small  quadrant  of  wood  weighted  on  its 
circular  side  to  make  it  swim  upright  in  the  water, 
was  attached  to  the  line  by  a  triple  bridle,  the 
two  parts  from  the  ends  of  the  circle  being  seized 
to  a  small  wooden  plug  that  fitted  snugly  to  a 
wooden  socket  seized  to  the  part  of  the  log  line 
running  from  the  apex  of  the  chip.  This  ar- 
rangement holds  the  chip  upright  and  perpen- 
dicular to  the  direction  of  the  log  line ;  when  the 
line  is  given  a  sharp  jerk,  the  plug  disengages, 


286  UNDER  SAIL 

the  chip  capsizes,  and  can  be  easily  hauled  aboard. 
It  is  really  a  sort  of  miniature  sea  anchor. 

Captain  Nichols  stood  by  with  the  sand  glass. 
Frenchy  was  told  to  cast  the  chip  overboard, 
while  I  stood  at  the  rail  to  see  the  line  run  clear. 
Twenty  fathoms  of  the  "stray  line"  went  over 
first,  the  end  being  marked  by  a  piece  of  red 
bunting.  As  this  ran  over  the  taffrail  the  skip- 
per called  out  "Turn,"  at  the  same  time  turning 
the  glass  himself.  He  was  greatly  pleased  with 
the  whole  proceeding  and  danced  around  much 
after  the  manner  of  a  small  boy  with  a  new  kite. 
The  sand  glass  was  a  twenty-eight  second  one, 
and  the  captain  had  dried  it  out  in  the  galley  that 
morning  and  then  compared  it  with  his  chron- 
ometer. 

The  line  was  tearing  over  the  rail  like  wild 
and  as  the  captain  called,  "Up!"  Frenchy 
grabbed  the  line. 

Examining  the  line  we  found  we  were  making 
10.2  knots. 

At  the  time  of  shouting  "Up!"  Captain  Nich- 
ols stepped  over  to  the  Bliss  taffrail  log  trail- 
ing on  the  weather  quarter  and  noted  the  dial. 
An  hour  later  we  again  hove  the  old-fashioned 
log  and  checked  our  reading  on  the  patent  log. 
For  the  information  of  landsmen,  it  may  be  well 


HOMEWARD  BOUND  287 

to  say  that  a  knot  on  the  log  line — and  here  is 
where  the  term  comes  from — is  a  distance  of 
forty-seven  feet,  four  inches  (for  a  28-second 
glass),  the  same  proportional  part  of  a  sea  mile 
or  "knot"  of  6,080  feet  that  28  seconds  is  of  an 
hour.  The  different  knots  along  the  line  are  dis- 
tinguished by  fish  line  tucked  into  the  strands 
and  a  knot  cast  for  each  mark  away  from  the 
start.  Tenths  are  estimated,  the  length  between 
knots  being  divided  by  shreds  of  white  bunting 
into  five  parts.  If  sailing  fast,  as  we  were,  a 
short  glass  is  sometimes  used ;  this  registers  four- 
teen seconds  and  the  readings  on  the  log  line 
must  be  doubled.  In  passing  it  may  be  well  to 
mention  that  the  old-fashioned  log  chip,  where 
speeds  are  not  over,  say  fifteen  knots,  is  the  most 
reliable  method  of  measurement  of  rate  of  speed 
through  the  roster  ever  devised.  Also,  the  fact 
that  the  sea  mile  or  "knot"  is  six  thousand  and 
eighty  feet,  and  not  five  thousand  two  hundred 
and  eighty  feet  as  ashore,  is  due  to  the  fact  that 
in  navigating  a  ship  over  the  sea  it  is  necessary 
to  have  a  standard  of  measurement  bearing  a 
simple  relation  to  the  size  and  shape  of  the  earth. 
One  sea  mile  is  the  length  of  one  minute  of  arc 
measured  on  the  meridian,  6,080  feet.  This  is  the 
mean  value,  for,  owing  to  the  flattening  at  the 


288  UNDER  SAIL 

poles,  the  minute  of  arc  varies  slightly  from  the 
poles  to  the  equator. 

Ten  knots  and  over  is  fair  going  for  any 
sailer,  and  extra  fine  for  trade  wind  sailing.  Our 
hopes  for  a  quick  passage  were  high.  The  water 
boiled  past  us  in  a  smother  of  swishing  foam,  a 
cheerful  chatter  when  homeward  bound,  while 
aloft  every  inch  of  sail  was  doing  its  full  duty. 
Before  noon  we  got  the  anchor  scrubbed  clean 
and  at  once  unshackled  the  cables  and  sent  them 
below,  bowsing  the  jackasses  into  the  hawse  pipes, 
as  on  the  passage  out.  Both  bower  anchors  were 
then  secured  inboard  and  lashed  to  heavy  ring 
bolts  on  the  fo'c'sle  head,  the  cat  and  fish  falls 
were  unrove,  stopped  up  and  stowed  below. 

We  put  in  the  afternoon  rousing  up  this  rope 
and  that,  tautening  every  stitch  of  canvas  to  its 
full  extent.  Our  new  second  mate  was  given  his 
first  lessons  in  the  handling  of  a  watch  at  sea, 
and  did  well  enough,  considering  the  fact  that 
Chief  Mate  Zerk  kept  the  center  of  the  stage, 
as  was  his  habit  whenever  anything  transpired 
on  the  deck.  At  four  bells  the  starboard  watch 
went  below,  and  we  stood  the  first  dog  watch. 
In  the  second  dog  watch  we  sat  around  yarning, 
still  being  too  full  of  rational  rest  to  seek  our 
bunks.  We  watched  Tommy  handle  things  alone 


HOMEWARD  BOUND  289 

—but  for  all  that  Captain  Nichols  was  always 
to  be  seen  far  aft,  stumping  the  poop,  and  keep- 
ing a  mighty  watchful  eye  on  the  progress  of 
events.  During  the  night  watches  he  was  par- 
ticularly in  evidence.  Tommy  gained  confidence 
faster  than  he  did  experience  and  assumed  a  cer- 
tain air  of  superiority  that  was  galling  to  his 
former  watchmates.  Old  Smith  was  the  one  to 
carry  things  along  by  setting  a  correct  example 
to  the  men.  Often  when  Tom  did  not  know  just 
what  to  do,  Old  Smith  would  start  things  by 
jumping  to  the  proper  rope  and  the  order  would 
tally  along  afterward.  On  the  other  hand,  things 
got  so  that  when  Tom  gave  the  wrong  orders 
the  watch  would  disregard  them  and  do  what 
they  thought  was  right.  Old  Smith,  Hitchen, 
Axel  and  Charlie  Horse  knew  as  much  about 
sailing  as  any  second  mate,  and  the  result  was  not 
disastrous,  although  at  times  a  trifle  ragged. 

The  captain  shaped  a  course  due  south,  mag- 
netic, running  along  the  meridian  of  one  hundred 
and  fifty-eight  degrees  west  from  Greenwich. 
This  carried  us  to  the  eastward  of  Karatoo  Island 
and  we  then  put  more  easting  in  the  course  and 
sailed  past  the  Walker  Islands,  crossing  the  equa- 
tor when  five  days  out  from  Honolulu;  a  fair 
bit  of  travelling  for  a  vessel  of  the  latter  sailing 


290  UNDER  SAIL 

ship  days.  Here  the  trades  failed  us  and  again 
we  were  to  wallow  in  the  stagnant  latitudes  that 
try  the  spirit  and  vex  the  soul.  But  the  ship's 
company  forward  were  in  excellent  humor  and 
anything  but  sea  weary.  We  employed  the  time 
below,  not  given  over  to  sleeping,  in  sewing  our 
much  worn  clothing,  in  scrubbing  clothes,  an  art 
in  which  we  were  expert,  and  in  yarning  about 
the  times  gone  by. 

As  the  days  spread  into  weeks  we  thought 
more  and  more  of  the  times  to  come,  and  of  course 
discussed  them  at  great  length.  Much  of  our 
mental  intercourse  had  a  hopeful,  speculative 
trend.  Being  wholly  human  and  with  all  the 
weaknesses  that  sailor  flesh  abounds  in,  it  is  not 
to  be  wondered  at  if  the  ambitions  of  that  voyage 
never  fully  materialized;  judging  by  my  own,  I 
can  say  they  did  not.  I  wanted  to  command  an- 
other such  ship  as  the  Fuller,  to  stump  to  wind- 
ward and  set  the  course,  to  have  all  night  in,  and 
eat  delicious  viands  at  the  cabin  table.  Stranger 
fate  was  to  await  me  before  I  cast  my  anchor 
in  the  fair  cove  called  home,  with  kids  to  crawl 
upon  my  knee  and  call  me  "Dadda,"  and  a  wife 
to  remind  me  now  and  then  that  I  am  not  cap- 
tain here. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

HAWAIIAN  SHIPMATES 

DAMN  these  rotten  oilskins.  By what's 
this?"  "Oh,  helir  It  was  black  as  a 
pocket  on  deck  and  a  sudden  douse  of  rain  sent 
us  scrambling  for  our  oil  clothing.  "Damn  it 
I'm  lousy,  sure  as  you're  born.  Ugh!"  and  sim- 
ilar forceful  if  inelegant  expressions  punctuated 
the  night  as  we  struggled  into  these  smelly,  sticky 
rags.  They  were  as  paper  to  the  rain;  we  were 
wet  before  we  knew  it.  In  the  pockets  and  in 
every  fold  millions  of  cockroaches,  whole  na- 
tions of  them,  debouched  upon  the  streaming 
decks.  Some  of  us  stole  forward  and  in  the  light 
from  the  fo'c'sle  examined  things.  On  the  fo'c'sle 
deck,  where  we  had  knocked  them  in  hastily,  un- 
hooking the  oiled  clothing  from  the  bulkhead  be- 
hind the  water  butt,  were  several  regiments  of 
roaches. 

During  our  two  months  in  Honolulu  we  had 
never  used  oilskins,  and,  sailor-like,  left  them 
hang.  In  the  warm  atmosphere  the  bugs  mul- 

291 


292  UNDER  SAIL 

tiplied  amid  luxurious  surroundings  with  unlim- 
ited supplies  of  delicious  linseed-oil  to  thrive  up- 
on. Fortunately  we  were  in  the  tropics  and  a  wet 
back  did  not  matter,  especially  as  we  always 
doused  ourselves  with  a  bucket  of  salt  water  after 
a  wetting  by  rain,  a  sure  way  to  prevent  colds. 
As  for  the  evicted  roaches,  they  were  no  doubt 
as  mad  as  we  were.  In  the  next  fine  spell  we 
rubbed  our  oilskins  with  fresh  mixtures  of  raw 
oil  and  a  little  melted  beeswax  from  the  sail- 
maker's  stores. 

The  first  job  of  any  magnitude  started,  after 
leaving  port,  was  to  scrape  all  bright  work,  that 
is,  all  varnished  woodwork,  masts  and  light  spars. 
We  then  rubbed  them  down  with  boiled  linseed- 
oil.  This  work  was  done  from  bo'sun's  chairs, 
using  pieces  of  broken  glass  as  scrapers.  The  fine 
shavings  fluttered  into  every  crook  and  corner  of 
the  ship,  lodging  in  the  coils  of  rope  and  pro- 
viding a  constant  job  of  cleaning  while  the  work 
was  under  way.  Scouse  was  again  elected  to 
the  drudgery,  but  in  this  instance  he  became  a 
man  of  some  importance,  for  Kahemuku  and 
Black  Joe  were  assigned  to  work  with  him.  He 
jollied  them  in  a  rough,  uncouth  way  and  they 
sat  at  his  feet  in  respectful  worship.  They  were 
permanently  constituted  the  knockabout  gang  of 


HAWAIIAN  SHIPMATES        293 

our  watch  and  cleaned  out  the  head  every  other 
morning  when  we  were  on  deck  for  the  wash- 
down.  Getting  up  coal  for  the  galley  of  a  Sun- 
day morning  was  one  of  their  regular  jobs,  and 
after  the  washdown  they  were  the  boys  who  han- 
dled the  big  deck  swabs  while  the  rest  of  us  got 
the  gear  off  the  pins  and  stowed  the  washdeck 
utensils. 

As  for  myself,  a  change  had  come  over  the 
mate,  or  I  too  would  have  been  of  this  crowd. 
Our  relations  were  fairly  cordial  again,  becoming 
increasingly  so  when  I  loaned  him  copies  of 
"Midshipman  Easy"  and  "Commodore  Junk," 
books  given  me  by  my  father  when  I  left  home. 

Of  the  three  Kanakas  we  had  the  prize  win- 
ner in  Black  Joe.  In  the  first  place  Black  Joe 
never  said  "sir"  to  an  officer,  but  he  applied  this 
mark  of  distinction  to  every  hand  forward.  At 
first  some  of  the  boys  wanted  to  make  Black  Joe 
permanent  messman  of  the  watch.  He  was  will- 
ing enough,  for  he  knew  nothing  about  a  ship 
and  felt  his  shortcomings  and  wanted  to  help 
out. 

"Be  fair  with  him.  How  would  you  like  that 
job  regular?"  Frenchy  put  in  the  good  word 
and  we  decided  that  Black  Joe  was  to  get  a 
square  deal  forward  anyhow. 


294  UNDER  SAIL 

His  failure  to  properly  respond  to  orders  from 
aft  caused  a  lot  of  suppressed  amusement.  The 
mate  bawled  him  unmercifully  but  to  no  purpose, 
for  Black  Joe  simply  had  things  set  in  his  mind 
and  there  was  no  changing  him.  Finally,  the 
mate  worked  out  a  satisfactory  solution  of  the 
problem,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  though  Black 
Joe  could  hardly  be  termed  a  third-rate  success 
as  a  sailor. 

"Here  you!  Fred,  take  that  baboon  and  loose 
the  fore  upper  tops'l!"  was  his  method  of  hors- 
ing him.  In  working  the  gear  on  deck  he  would 
shout,  "Get  that  Kanaka  coon  and  hook  him  on 
the  lee  fore  brace!"  In  working  ship  Black  Joe 
was  pushed  and  pulled  from  station  to  station. 
He  could  not  coil  down  a  rope  properly  no  matter 
how  often  the  trick  was  explained  to  him;  every 
other  time  he  would  lay  the  gear  down  left  hand- 
ed as  like  as  not.  If  he  hitched  a  coil  on  the 
fife  or  pin  rails  it  was  an  even  chance  that  a  fid 
would  be  needed  to  get  it  down.  Black  Joe  was 
all  thumbs  and  his  slow  mind  worked  backward. 
His  best  performance  was  at  the  kids,  but  his 
table  manners  would  have  disgraced  him  at  a 
luau. 

Kahemuku  was  of  a  different  type.  He  was 
sentimental,  a  dreamer  and  all  for  himself  when 


HAWAIIAN  SHIPMATES        295 

aloft.  The  way  he  would  strangle  the  stick  when 
out  on  a  yard  was  a  sight  for  the  angels.  His 
long  arms  were  as  good  as  three  turns  of  a  sea 
gasket,  and  his  bare  feet  would  grip  the  foot 
ropes  with  brown  prehensile  toes.  Life  was  made 
more  bearable  for  him  by  the  fact  that  he  was 
constantly  looking  forward  to  a  shining  goal. 

"Pilladelpia"  was  the  burden  of  his  song.  He 
intended  to  see  the  great  city  of  "Pilladelpia" 
and  asked  interminable  questions  about  it,  sit- 
ting on  the  edge  of  his  bunk,  a  great  dusky  six 
footer,  with  the  wistful  brown  eyes  of  a  trust- 
ing child.  When  told  we  would  probably  go 
to  New  York,  he  would  answer,  "No,  I  wanna 
go  Pilladelpia."  Poor  Kahemuku,  whatever  be- 
came of  you  God  only  knows.  You  most  cer- 
tainly never  fell  from  aloft,  but  your  passage 
around  the  Horn  in  the  Antarctic  winter  must 
have  prepared  you  for  any  fate. 

Sailors,  like  other  mortals,  are  as  jealous  of 
their  little  rights  and  privileges  as  any  of  us 
ashore.  To  stand  a  trick  at  the  wheel  in  regular 
turn,  to  see  that  everyone  stood  his  lawful  share 
of  this  duty,  was  a  strong  incentive  to  silence  on 
the  part  of  those  who  were  wise  to  the  fact  that 
Kahemuku  and  Black  Joe  knew  nothing  about 
steering.  They  could  not  box  the  compass,  and 


296  UNDER  SAIL 

in  fact  knew  nothing  about  the  action  of  the  helm 
or  the  use  of  the  wheel. 

Black  Joe  stood  a  trick  nevertheless  between 
Australia  and  Fred,  and  Kahemuku  followed 
Fred  and  was  relieved  in  turn  by  able  seaman 
Brenden.  That  these  three  worthies,  Australia, 
Fred  and  Brenden,  knew  about  the  Kanaka's 
lack  of  proficiency  was  proven  by  the  fact  that 
they  always  passed  the  course  over  the  head  of  the 
Kanaka  to  the  man  following.  For  the  first  few 
days  out  of  port  the  steering  was  easy.  The  wind 
held  on  the  port  quarter  and  the  sea  was  smooth. 
It  also  happened  that  the  blacks  had  their  tricks 
during  the  day  watches  while  the  captain  slum- 
bered. The  mate,  as  was  his  custom,  seldom  both- 
ered with  the  course  during  the  day,  devoting 
all  of  his  energy  to  directing  the  work  on  deck. 

On  the  third  day  out  Australia  went  to  the 
wheel  in  the  first  night  watch  and  at  four  bells 
Black  Joe  headed  aft  to  assume  complete  charge 
of  the  steering,  being  shunted  on  his  way  by 
watchful  shipmates.  Presently  a  terrible  commo- 
tion aloft  startled  us,  we  were  brought  by  the 
lee  with  a  slamming  and  slatting  like  thunder. 
Mr.  Zerk  jumped  to  the  break  of  the  poop  and 
started  to  bawl  orders. 


HAWAIIAN  SHIPMATES        297 

"Hard  up,  helium/  Weather  fore  braces! 
Lively  there!" 

Everything  was  shaking,  with  the  yards  point- 
ing into  the  wind,  and  the  ship  started  to  roll. 
"How  do  you  head?"  There  was  no  response. 
"How  do  you  head,  damn  you!" 

Forward  we  were  swinging  the  head  yards,  and 
she  started  to  box  off,  while  aft  a  secondary 
commotion  centered  about  the  wheelhouse,  with 
Captain  Nichols  acting  the  part  of  Satan,  in  yel- 
low silk  pajamas,  and  Black  Joe  performing 
duty  as  the  Butt  of  All  Evil. 

"What  are  you  steering?"  roared  the  captain. 
"Mr.  Zierk!"  never  had  we  heard  him  so  sharp 
before.  The  mate  was  already  aft,  and  to  change 
the  course  of  wrath,  he  grabbed  Joe  and  tossed 
him  headlong  out  on  the  deck,  holding  the  wheel 
himself  while  he  added  to  the  din.  "Lay  aft! 
Lay  aft,  a  man!"  Frenchy  responded.  In  a  few 
more  moments  we  were  back  on  the  course  again 
and  the  captain  held  a  drumhead  court  at  the 
break  of  the  poop. 

"Keep  those  black  monkeys  forward,"  he  or- 
dered, "and  don't  let  this  happen  again.  By 
God,  sir,  these  waters  are  full  of  coral  reefs,  and 
I  have  got  to  hold  my  course,  sir,"  he  added,  turn- 
ing to  the  mate. 


298  UNDER  SAIL 

The  next  morning  the  three  Kanakas  were 
mustered  in  the  waist  and  the  captain  found  that 
none  of  them  had  the  least  idea  about  steering, 
either  by  compass  or  by  the  wind.  John  Aahee 
of  the  starboard  watch  was  denser  even  than  Joe. 
Later  on  these  simple  fellows  made  up  for  their 
lack  of  steering  by  doing  additional  turns  at  the 
back-breaking  bilge  pumps. 

After  the  generous  way  in  which  we  lived  in 
Honolulu,  the  return  to  sea  grub  was  sudden  and 
disappointing.  A  week  or  so  saw  the  end  of  fresh 
provisions  and  we  were  back  again  on  the  salt 
horse  of  the  passage  out.  Lime-juice  was  given 
us  at  noon,  and  with  the  exception  of  spuds,  we 
were  on  the  regulation  lay.  The  tack  was  weev- 
ily,  the  tea  even  more  flavored  with  roach  content 
than  before,  and  the  old  drill  of  cracker  hash, 
slumgullion,  salt  horse,  and  pea  soup,  with  occa- 
sional helpings  of  applejack,  or  rare  treats  of 
Chow's  gingerbread,  carried  us  along. 

About  this  time  the  parrot,  Jake,  came  in  for 
his  share  of  attention.  Frenchy  planned  to  take 
the  bird  home  to  Madeleine,  and  as  his  sister 
would  have  no  use  for  him  otherwise,  our  careful 
shipmate  guarded  the  moral  tone  of  the  green 
bird  with  great  care.  He  also  made  a  screen  of 
ravensduck  for  the  cage  and  was  much  worried 


HAWAIIAN  SHIPMATES        299 

over  how  the  bird  would  weather  the  cold  in  high 
southern  latitudes.  A  month  of  this  care  on  the 
part  of  Frenchy  was  rewarded  by  the  usual  re- 
sult in  cases  of  that  kind,  whether  with  dogs, 
birds,  or  children.  Jake  cut  loose  in  a  most  ex- 
traordinary manner,  after  one  of  his  French  les- 
sons, and  the  outburst  would  have  been  a  credit 
to  Mr.  Zerk.  Frenchy  was  grieved  beyond  all 
hope  of  recovery  and  one  and  all  we  swore  to 
our  own  innocence.  The  upshot  of  it  was  that 
Frenchy  lost  interest  in  the  parrot  and  the  pro- 
fane Jake  became  a  prime  favorite  with  the  crew 
forward.  He  was  really  started  on  his  downward 
path  by  Kitchen,  of  starboard,  who  took  him  in 
hand  while  his  master  slept. 

"Here  comes  the  grub!"  was  one  of  his  re- 
spectable parts  of  speech,  varied  later  on  by  "To 
hell  with  the  grub,"  under  the  tutelage  of  Aus- 
tralia. 

After  crossing  the  line,  and  working  our  way 
through  the  doldrum  belt  of  daily  showers,  calms 
and  baffling  winds,  we  held  a  course  that  carried 
us  between  the  Marquesas  and  Tuamotu,  or  the 
Low  Archipelago.  During  this  time  we  kept  a 
special  lookout  at  night  and  sighted  several  isl- 
ands, giving  them  a  wide  berth.  We  were  in- 
structed to  keep  our  eyes  peeled  for  "white  water'* 


300  UNDER  SAIL 

and  had  a  number  of  false  alarms.  On  a  dark 
night,  in  this  region,  the  sea  is  particularly  black, 
of  a  blue  blackness  that  defies  description.  The 
seas  are  very  phosphorescent,  especially  so  under 
a  cloudy  sky,  and  the  breaking  of  a  number  of 
rollers  leaves  a  white  wake  that  is  disturbing  to 
a  lookout  on  the  edge  for  breakers.  One  imag- 
ines that  breakers  are  ahead  every  few  minutes. 
Light  rain  squalls  and  brilliant  floods  of  sun- 
shine alternating  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Mar- 
quesas resulted  in  our  witnessing  the  most  re- 
markable phenomenon  of  the  voyage.  We  lay  be- 
calmed late  in  the  afternoon  of  a  humid  hot  day, 
odd  jobs  were  going  on  all  over  the  ship,  iron 
work  was  being  chipped,  service  renewed,  and 
Australia  and  Brenden  were  rattling  down, 
everyone  being  busy.  Frenchy  and  I,  for  we 
usually  worked  together  at  "nice"  jobs,  were 
cutting  and  fitting  the  canvas  for  a  new  mast 
coat  on  the  mizzen,  the  old  one  having  cracked 
and  started  a  leak  into  the  cabin.  This  was 
a  job  that  required  expert  fitting  and  we 
were  all  attention  to  the  work.  All  hands 
were  so  occupied  that  we  did  not  notice  the 
black  rain  squall  that  suddenly  came  upon  us 
in  a  puff  of  cold  air.  A  few  minutes  of  this,  while 
we  manned  the  weather  main  and  lee  crojik,  to 


HAWAIIAN  SHIPMATES        301 

get  whatever  push  there  was  in  it,  was  followed 
by  the  sun  breaking  through  more  scorching  than 
before,  while  the  wind,  such  as  was  left,  was  dis- 
tinctly up  and  down.  A  beautiful  rainbow  formed 
under  the  receding  cloud,  and  then  we  saw  that 
we  were  near  an  island,  close  aboard  off  the  star- 
board bow,  while  the  rain  pall  drifted  rapidly  to 
port.  We  came  upon  it  with  such  suddenness 
that  for  a  moment  most  of  us  lost  our  heads. 

"Hard  starb'd!"  shouted  the  skipper,  and  then 
there  was  a  laugh  on  deck  in  which  he  joined 
heartily.  We  were  as  stationary  as  the  island 
except  for  the  little  way  upon  us  given  by  the 
passing  rain  squall.  "Lay  aloft  and  take  a  look 
at  that."  Captain  Nichols  addressed  Frenchy 
and  me,  and  we  skinned  up  the  mizzen  while  he 
went  to  the  companion  and  took  the  long  glass 
from  the  rack.  That  land  certainly  looked 
strange ! 

When  going  over  the  top,  I  stopped.  Frenchy 
was  ahead  of  me  and  almost  at  the  crosstrees. 
He  was  looking  around  in  a  bewildered  sort  of 
a  way ;  he  was  glancing  around  the  entire  horizon, 
thinking  the  ship  had  changed  her  head.  I  too 
looked  all  about  but  could  see  nothing. 

"What  do  you  make  out?"  called  up  the  skip- 
per. 


302  UNDER  SAIL 

"Nothing  in  sight,  sir!" 

"All  right.    Lay  down!" 

It  was  a  fine  mirage;  a  remarkably  clear  one. 
When  we  got  to  the  deck  the  "island"  had  as- 
sumed grotesque  shapes:  the  green  faded  out 
and  the  palm  trees  began  to  look  like  young 
waterspouts.  Suddenly  the  whole  picture  melted 
from  view. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

DRIVING   SOUTHWARD 

THE  mirage  served  as  a  subject  for  conver- 
sation during  many  succeeding  days  and 
the  captain  warned  us  to  be  more  than  ever  on 
the  lookout  for  islands.  He  seemed  to  take  espe- 
cial pains  with  his  navigation,  testing  the  patent 
log  repeatedly  by  use  of  the  chip  log,  and  com- 
ing up  at  all  sorts  of  hours  during  the  day  and 
night  when  by  any  chance  the  lubber  line  was  as 
much  as  a  quarter  point  off  the  course.  When 
on  a  wind,  during  this  period,  he  practically  lived 
on  deck,  turning  in  "all  standing"  for  short  naps 
during  the  day. 

A  lookout  on  the  fore  t'gallant  yard  was  also 
stationed  during  the  daytime.  Several  more  small 
islands  were  passed,  the  distant  palm  trees  seem- 
ing like  a  low  broken  comb  upon  the  horizon,  for 
we  gave  them  plenty  of  offing  as  the  atoll  forma- 
tion often  throws  its  reefs  far  out.  Several  times 
our  course  was  altered  to  do  this. 

In  the  f  o'c'sle  we  had  a  round  of  mystery  stories 

303 


304  UNDER  SAIL 

about  islands  mainly.  One  by  Frenchy  took  the 
prize  for  heavy  ghost  atmosphere  and  when  told 
in  the  dusk  of  a  last  dog  watch  with  only  the  stars 
overhead  to  wink  at  its  absurdity,  the  effect  was 
all  that  could  be  desired.  This  tale  had  to  do  with 
an  invisible  island,  situated  somewhere  about  the 
Loyalty  Group  near  New  Caledonia.  The  island 
was  invisible  by  day  but  could  be  found  by  a 
night  landfall,  and  indeed  was  so  discovered  by 
that  tight  little  brig  the  P&re  Duchesne,  owned 
and  sailed  by  no  less  a  person  than  the  notorious 
Jean  Ravail,  who  did  not,  as  Frenchy  assured  me, 
perish  in  the  sewers  of  Paris,  as  was  supposed. 
Ravail  was  a  pirate,  of  course,  though  he  sailed  as 
a  peaceful  trader,  exchanging  cognac  and  rum 
for  beche-de-mer,  through  the  southern  islands  of 
Polynesia.  Driving  onto  the  ghostly  island  in 
the  blackness  of  the  night,  anchor  was  let  go  just 
in  time  to  prevent  the  brig  from  running  up  the 
beach,  and  then,  to  the  tune  of  entrancing  music, 
the  whole  crew,  led  by  Ravail  himself,  were  de- 
coyed ashore  by  women  in  flowing  robes  of  white. 
They  left  to  a  man,  even  old  Pouly,  the  mate, 
who  held  out  to  the  last  until  a  scantily  draped 
siren  came  aboard  and  carried  him  ashore  in  her 
canoe.  The  story  is  supposed  to  have  been  found 
entered  by  Pouly  in  the  logbook  of  the  brig  when 


DRIVING  SOUTHWARD         305 

she  was  picked  up  by  the  frigate  La  Perouse, 
drifting  with  her  cable  chafed  through  by  the 
coral  reef.  Many  weeks  of  cruising  failed  to  lo- 
cate the  island.  I  always  liked  this  story,  for 
Frenchy  enjoyed  telling  it  and  did  it  remarkably 
well. 

The  starboard  watch  also  stirred  uneasily  after 
the  mirage  and  as  a  direct  result  of  it  Charlie 
Horse  got  religion.  Not  that  he  had  not  always 
had  it,  but  these  singular  events  merely  brought 
it  to  the  surface  as  it  were.  Charlie  Horse  began 
where  our  late  shipmate  Jimmy  left  off.  He  was 
extremely  rigorous  in  his  beliefs  and  did  not  hes- 
itate to  preach  infant  damnation,  advising  all  of 
us  who  had  not  been  duly  baptized  to  rectify  this 
mistake  as  soon  as  possible.  He  paid  special 
attention  to  John  Aahee  of  his  watch,  and  to 
that  simple-minded  native  the  awful  creed  of 
Charlie  Horse  was  a  throbbing  reality.  The  exist- 
ence of  purgatory  was  assured;  hell  was  a  pos- 
itive fact,  a  hot  and  terrible  place  of  torture. 
Often  during  a  brief  dog  watch  of  a  Sunday,  the 
port  side  would  get  some  of  the  overflow,  which 
we  listened  to  with  varying  tolerance;  his  own 
watchmates  had  arrived  at  the  point  of  active 
protest. 

With  Charlie  Horse  preaching  religion  of  the 


306  UNDER  SAIL! 

hell-fire-and-damnation  brand,  Frenchy  and  other 
less  expert  story-tellers  filling  the  intervals  of 
the  night  watches  on  deck  with  ghostly  discourse, 
and  adding  to  this  the  appearance  of  St.  Elmo's 
fires  at  the  yard  arms  after  one  of  the  tropic  dis- 
turbances, it  was  no  wonder  that  we  were  a  bit 
on  edge  where  anything  that  smacked  of  the  su- 
pernatural occurred.  Talk  had  been  rather  rem- 
iniscent in  one  of  the  last  dog  watches,  the  weath- 
er wras  fine  and  we  were  sailing  along  before  a 
gentle  quartering  breeze  without  having  started 
a  sheet  or  brace  for  several  days — calm  of  spirit 
prevailed  on  board  for  a  time,  there  was  little 
hazing  and,  except  for  the  growing  rottenness  of 
the  tucker,  we  were  content.  The  mind  must 
therefore  cast  about  for  something  new  to  seize 
upon.  The  name  of  Jimmy  Marshall  had  been 
mentioned  a  great  deal  during  the  watch  re- 
ferred to,  Axel  having  told  of  meeting  Jimmy 
on  his  last  night  ashore,  while  returning  to  the 
ship.  Jimmy  was  sneaking  up  the  dark  side 
of  Nuuanu  Avenue — there  was  a  moon  out — and 
bumped  into  Axel  before  he  knew  it. 
"What!  Down  to  the  ship,  Jimmy?" 
"Naw,  jest  took  a  look  at  'er.  I  'ears  you 
was  sailin'  an'  jest  walked  down  past  the  Mon- 
arch an'  looked  over.  'Ow's  'ell  on  board?" 


DRIVING  SOUTHWARD         307 

"Same  old  wagon,  Jimmy.  How  are  they 
treating  you?" 

"They's  slowly  killin'  me,  Axel,  so  help  me 
Gawd,  they  is.  Talk  erbout  yer  rotters!  Say, 
if  you  knowed  as  'ow  they  does  me  along  of 
some  other  poor  Gawdfersooken  fellers.  Well, 
what  ov  it?  They  looses  Jimmy  afore  long, 
that's  wot  they  does." 

'Til  bet  they  prays  the  liver  out  of  him,  and 
starves  the  little  faker  to  boot,"  was  Australia's 
opinion. 

At  about  one  bell,  in  the  first  watch,  we  had 
just  got  to  the  stage  of  half  sleep,  and  were  drop- 
ping off  for  our  precious  three  and  a  quarter 
hours,  when  we  were  all  sitting  up  as  well  as 
we  could,  in  our  bunks.  Fred  was  terror  strick- 
en. "By  -  -  It's  Jimmy.  I  see  him!" 

"What  in  hell's  bitin'  you?"  Australia  demand- 
ed. 

"Jimmy  Marshall's  in  here!  He  spoke  tome!" 

"Spoke?  Say,  you  big  stiff,  if  you  don't  shut 
up  I'll  speak  a  few  words  you'll  remember!"  Aus- 
tralia was  mad  clean  through.  There  was  a  si- 
lence. Something  stirred  over  Australia's  bunk, 
next  to  Fred's. 

"Who's  that?" 

"Jimmy  Marshall?"  shouted  the  thoroughly 


308  UNDER  SAIL 

frightened  Fred,  and  then  a  voice  near  the  top 
of  the  fo'c'sle,  in  the  familiar  tones  of  our  late 
shipmate,  very  cracked  and  lifelike,  added  to  the 
fear. 

"Gawd  have  mercy.  Gawd  have  mercy !"  came 
the  words. 

"It's  Jimmy!  Take  him  away!  Take  him 
away!"  shouted  several,  Martin  and  Scouse 
among  them.  We  were  all  tumbling  out  of  our 
bunks.  Frenchy  shot  through  the  open  door  of 
the  fo'c'sle  and  Scouse  close  after  him.  Suddenly 
there  was  a  wild  mixture  of  screams  and  screeches 
and  Australia  exploded  in  a  loud,  whole-souled 
oath  of  relief.  He  held  the  struggling  Jake  by 
the  tail  feathers.  The  parrot  had  recently  been 
about  the  only  consistent  listener  to  the  doctrines 
of  Charlie  Horse,  and  his  appearance  in  our 
fo'c'sle  at  night  gave  him  a  chance  to  retail  some 
of  his  new  line  of  talk.  Someone  had  evidently 
left  his  cage  open  and  he  came  in  to  get  out  of 
the  draft.  From  this  time  on  the  bird  got  to  be 
a  nuisance  as  well  as  a  reminder  of  our  folly. 
Frenchy  sold  him  to  Chips  for  a  suit  of  oilskins. 

During  these  days  of  the  voyage  we  overhauled 
our  best  suit  of  sails  preparatory  to  bending  them 
for  the  heavy  weather  off  the  Cape.  I  had  by 
that  time  become  fairly  proficient  in  the  use  of 


DRIVING  SOUTHWARD         309 

the  palm  and  needle  and  could  sew  a  presentable 
flat  seam,  or  round  seam,  as  occasion  demanded. 
Frenchy  was  the  best  sailmaker  in  our  watch,  and 
with  Brenden  and  myself,  constituted  the  sail- 
maker's  gang  to  port.  Old  Smith,  Hitchen  and 
Axel  were  the  starboard  complement  in  this  kind 
of  work.  We  had  our  benches  in  the  most  com- 
fortable part  of  the  deck  and  of  a  morning,  after 
the  washdown,  while  we  were  getting  the  canvas 
out,  the  rest  of  the  crowd  would  wipe  the  deck 
dry  with  pieces  of  old  sugar  bags,  getting  right 
down  on  their  shin  bones  and  rubbing  the  planks. 
We  put  in  new  tabling,  renewed  lining  cloths, 
sewed  on  new  leather  at  the  clews,  wetting  it 
so  that  when  dry  the  leather  would  shrink  tight, 
gripping  the  bolt  ropes  so  the  strands  would 
show  through.  In  some  of  the  older  sails  we 
sewed  an  extra  line  of  stitching  down  the  middle 
of  the  double  flat  seam  where  the  cloths  join. 

I  learned  to  properly  work  the  reef  and  head 
holes.  The  canvas  was  cut  with  a  "stabber"  and 
a  small  fish  line  grommet  laid  over  the  edge,  the 
hole  then  being  finished  off  with  a  fencing  of 
heavy  waxed  and  double  laid  twine.  In  these 
later  degenerate  days,  a  brass  eyelet  ring  is  often 
crimped  around  the  hole,  a  much  quicker  job  and 
about  one-third  as  strong. 


310  UNDER  SAIL 

In  all  of  the  lore  of  cutting  canvas  for  sails, 
and  we  made  a  set  of  skysails  on  the  voyage,  the 
mate  was  a  past  master.  The  "roaching,"  the 
proper  way  to  allow  for  gores  in  the  cloths,  the 
fact  that  "square"  sails  are  anything  but  square; 
all  such  old-time  knowledge  was  handed  down 
and  eagerly  assimilated.  We  talked  of  the  "hoist" 
of  this  sail,  meaning  sails  that  spread  by  hoisting 
the  yard;  and  the  "drop"  of  that  sail,  referring 
to  the  courses  and  lower  tops'ls. 

On  the  Fuller  the  mains'l  and  crojik  (corrupt- 
ed from  the  "cross jack"  of  the  ancients)  were  fit- 
ted with  "cross  leeches"  and  a  "midship  rope." 
These  were  stout  hemp  ropes  sewed  to  tabling 
clothes  on  the  forward  side  of  the  sail,  the  cross 
leeches  running  from  the  head  earings  to  the  mid- 
dle of  the  foot,  and  the  "midship  rope"  from  the 
head  to  the  foot  of  the  sail  also  on  the  forward 
side.  This  left  the  after  side  of  the  sail  smooth 
so  as  to  draw  best  when  flattened  on  a  wind. 
At  the  foot  of  the  sail,  and  hooked  into  a  stout 
thimble  where  the  cross  leeches  and  midship  rope 
joined,  the  "slap  line"  led  aft,  and  the  "midship 
tack"  led  forward.  With  wind  a  point  or  two 
on  the  quarter,  the  weather  clew  garnets  of  the 
main  and  crojik  would  be  hauled  up  and  these 
sails  set  perfectly  by  the  midship  tack  and  the 


DRIVING  SOUTHWARD         311 

weather  cross  leech,  in  this  way  allowing  a  good 
share  of  the  breeze  to  distend  the  great  foresail 
for  all  it  was  worth.  Sailors  who  have  not  been 
shipmates  with  this  method  of  fitting  the  after 
courses  will  appreciate  the  utility. 

One  thing  Mr.  Zerk  always  harped  upon 
was  the  necessity  of  making  canvas  set  flat,  wheth- 
er on  the  wind  or  before  it. 

A  large  sail,  the  main  course,  for  instance,  is 
fitted  with  what  at  first  blush  appears  to  be  a 
useless  amount  of  gear.  The  sail  being  bent  to 
the  yard  by  means  of  the  head  earings  and  ro- 
bands  is  handled  by  use  of  the  following  ropes: 
the  tacks  leading  forward  from  the  clews,  the 
sheets  leading  aft.  When  before  the  wind  the 
sail  is  held  to  the  deck  by  the  two  sheets,  the  tacks 
being  idle.  When  on  a  wind,  that  is,  close  hauled, 
the  weather  tack  is  boarded  and  the  lee  sheet 
hauled  aft.  To  reef,  the  tacks  and  sheets  are 
started  and  the  reef  band  hauled  up  on  the  yard 
by  the  reef  tackles.  To  furl,  the  clews  are 
hauled  up  to  the  quarter  of  the  yard  by  means 
of  the  clew  garnets  while  the  body  of  the  sail 
is  gathered  in  by  the  leechUnes  and  the  bunt- 
lines.  Add  to  this  bowline  bridles  for  steadying 
out  the  weather  leech  when  on  a  wind,  slap  line 
for  keeping  the  foot  of  the  sail  away  from  the 


312  UNDER  SAIL 

mast  in  light  winds  and  calm,  the  midship  tack 
used  when  sailing  with  the  weather  leech  hauled 
up,  and  we  have  a  very  respectable  lot  of  rig- 
ging on  our  sail.  Upper  tops'ls  are  almost  as 
bad.  Now  this  means  nothing  to  the  landsman, 
but  a  lot  of  queer  names,  yet  the  gear  has  come 
down  through  long  ages  of  elimination  and  repre- 
sents the  utmost  efficiency  in  handling  sailing  can- 
vas. A  main  sail  is  a  mighty  spread  on  a  large 
modern  ship  and  may  show  to  the  wind  as  much 
as  four  thousand  square  feet  of  surface.  Our 
mainsail  on  the  Fuller  was  approximately  of  this 
size.  Given  a  heavy  press  of  wind,  say  twenty 
pounds  to  the  square  foot,  and  we  have  the  sail 
urging  our  ship  along  to  some  purpose. 

To  get  back  to  the  voyage,  after  a  reminis- 
cent ramble  with  technicalities  for  which  we  ask 
forgiveness,  though  old,  and  perhaps  new,  "shells" 
may  read  it,  I  will  add  that  the  working  of  can- 
vas is  one  of  the  best  jobs  aboard  ship.  We  were 
excused  from  jumping  up  at  every  order  to  do 
some  bit  of  pulling  or  hauling,  and  knowledge 
of  the  tricks  of  palm  and  needle  stamped  a  man 
as  of  the  real  salt. 

Australia,  Charlie  Horse,  Tony,  and  a  few 
others  were  kept  busy  renewing  chafing  gear,  fit- 
ting sword  mats  and  helping  Chips,  who  was  con- 


DRIVING  SOUTHWARD         313 

stantly  employed  about  the  ship  at  repair  and 
renewal  of  the  wooden  fittings.  The  battens  on 
the  "swifters"  were  always  being  broken  by  the 
clew  garnets,  and  had  to  be  renewed,  the  pump 
leathers  were  overhauled  at  frequent  intervals, 
hatch  wedges  were  constantly  inspected  and  "set 
up,"  and  Chips  was  the  man  to  do  these  things. 

Martin,  Mike,  Fred  and  Peter  were  given  a 
large  job  of  overhauling  all  spare  blocks.  The 
pins  were  knocked  out  and  turned  over  so  that 
the  least  wrorn  side  of  the  pin  would  bear  against 
the  bushing.  Iron  straps  were  chipped  and  red 
leaded  and  all  the  deck  and  emergency  tackles 
were  treated  in  the  same  way,  the  blocks,  thim- 
bles, and  falls  being  put  in  fine  shape;  nothing 
was  spared  in  the  quality  of  the  material  with 
which  we  worked.  Whips  and  gear  aloft  might 
be  turned  end  for  end,  but  after  that  they  were 
unrove  and  put  to  humbler  uses ;  never  spliced  ex- 
cept in  an  emergency.  On  a  ship,  the  odds  and 
ends  of  rope  yarn,  oakum,  and  old  wornout  gear 
is  headed  up  in  barrels  and  sold  as  "shakings." 
This  is  often  the  perquisite  of  the  mate. 

Scouse,  as  usual,  was  in  for  the  drudgery,  with 
Kahemuku  and  Black  Joe  tailing  along  as  his  as- 
sistants. He  did  not  seem  to  mind  it  and  got  on 
famously  with  the  Kanakas.  It  was  always  "sir" 


314  UNDER  SAIL 

to  Scouse,  from  Black  Joe,  who  looked  upon  the 
big  Dutchman  as  a  sort  of  hero.  The  red  thatch 
may  have  had  something  to  do  with  this  attitude, 
but  whatever  the  cause,  Scouse  would  have  got 
at  least  two  votes  had  he  ever  become  a  candi- 
date for  President  of  Hawaii. 

Just  before  shifting  sail,  this  taking  place  dur- 
ing a  lull  between  the  S.  E.  trades  and  the  coun- 
ter trades,  we  sent  down  the  main  lower  tops'l 
yard  and  rigged  and  sent  up  a  spare  spar  that 
we  had  on  deck.  This  was  a  regular  seaman's 
job  and  called  for  all  hands  during  an  entire 
day.  The  old  yard  had  a  slight  spring,  a  fault 
developed  in  the  heavy  weather  off  the  Cape  on 
the  passage  out.  We  unbent  the  sail,  leaving  it 
stopped  on  the  main  yard,  all  the  gear,  clewlines, 
buntlines,  etc.,  being  carried  into  the  top  and  the 
quarter  blocks  hooked  to  the  main  cap.  The  yard 
was  sent  down  by  means  of  a  stout  burton  from 
the  topmast  pendant,  and  the  upper  tops'l  sheets, 
downhauls,  etc.,  were  unrove  and  carried  into  the 
main  top.  The  upper  tops'l  was  hung  in  its  gear 
and  the  yard  steadied  out  by  the  braces  alone.  As 
we  had  a  fair  sailing  breeze,  the  t'gan's'l  and  up- 
per canvas  was  kept  set. 

As  soon  as  the  long  yard  was  down,  we  un- 
hooked the  burton  and  fastened  onto  the  new 


DRIVING  SOUTHWARD         315 

stick,  swaying  this  aloft,  when  the  braces  were 
hooked.  The  lifts  were  then  attached  and,  as 
soon  as  the  yard  was  up,  the  standard  was  keyed, 
and  all  running  gear  rove.  We  bent  sail  in  rec- 
ord time,  had  everything  shipshape  again  and 
sheeted  home  before  two  bells  in  the  afternoon 
watch. 

A  few  days  after  this,  on  a  Sunday,  of  course, 
we  shifted  sail  and  we  knew  that  we  were  in  for 
some  more  dirty  weather.  "Well,  this  will  be 
the  last,"  was  the  feeling  voiced  more  than  once 
by  the  men  in  the  fo'c'sle. 

During  the  time  of  many  jobs,  of  fine  weather, 
and  much  activity  of  a  sailor  kind,  the  Kanaka 
Kahemuku  astonished  us  by  his  skill  in  tattooing. 
Of  a  Sunday  he  was  always  busy.  His  first  sub- 
ject was  Scouse,  and  we  watched  the  progress 
of  art  with  great  interest.  Kahemuku  offered  to 
fix  me  up,  but  I  had  in  mind  the  advice  of  my 
father  and  decided  to  remain  undecorated  by 
anchor  or  star. 

"You  are  wise,  kid,"  Australia  agreed.  "Them 
marks  never  come  off  and  they  are  a  hard  thing 
to  get  by  with.  Many  a  poor  bloke  has  gone  to 
the  gallows  because  he  carried  a  bright  red  star 
of  hope  tattooed  on  his  chest." 

While  not  altogether  complimentary  in  his  al- 


316  UNDER  SAIL 

lusion,  Australia  was  right.  Scouse,  however, 
showed  his  honest  contempt  for  this  point  of  view 
by  having  a  Hula  Hula  dancer  done  on  his  chest. 
For  a  while  he  looked  as  if  he  had  been  crusted 
by  a  growth  of  barnacles. 

As  we  ran  past  the  little  islands  of  the  South 
Pacific,  that  lay  sparsely  scattered  along  our 
track,  Kahemuku  would  gaze  at  them  with  in- 
tense longing.  His  desire  for  "Pilladelpia"  alone 
compensated  him  for  their  loss.  But,  after  a 
while,  the  increasing  chill  overcame  all  thoughts 
of  that  wonderful  city  of  "Pilladelpia,"  and  Kahe- 
muku, Black  Joe  and  the  melancholy  Aahee 
turned  a  shade  of  ghastly  gray.  They  lay  shiv- 
ering in  their  bunks  during  the  watch  below,  ob- 
jects of  compassion  to  the  rest  of  us  who  were 
hardened  to  the  cold  sea. 

The  rapidly  dropping  temperature,  it  was  then 
the  last  week  of  June  and  the  middle  of  the  Ant- 
arctic winter,  served  to  remind  us  that  we  might 
expect  a  colder  and  perhaps  stormier  time  of  it 
than  on  the  passage  out  when  we  rounded  Cape 
Horn  in  the  middle  of  the  southern  summer.  One 
thing  that  would  be  in  our  favor,  and  all  of  the 
old  sailors  mentioned  this,  was  the  fact  that  for 
the  most  part  we  would  have  fair  winds,  the  pre- 
vailing storms  coming  from  the  west,  sweeping 


DRIVING  SOUTHWARD         317 

eastward  along  the  edge  of  the  Antarctic  Conti- 
nent, Cape  Horn  shoving  its  nose  into  the  very 
center  of  the  storm  path. 

The  sting  of  the  cold,  crisp  nights,  as  we  in- 
creased our  latitude,  warned  us  that  we  were  in 
for  weather  not  far  ahead.  The  Kanakas  became 
more  and  more  inert  at  each  drop  in  temperature. 
They  were  so  poorly  provided  for  in  the  way  of 
warm  clothing  that  all  hands  dug  into  chest  and 
bag,  contributing  from  wardrobes  none  too  large. 
The  Kanaka  boys  did  everything  they  could  to 
show  their  gratitude.  Our  two  of  the  port  watch 
worked  at  the  bilge  pumps  each  night  until  they 
were  utterly  done.  "It  keeps  them  warm,  and 
no  one  died  working  yet,"  said  Brenden.  "As 
long  as  they  keep  going  they're  still  alive,"  added 
Australia,  and  this  was  true  enough,  so  we  were 
ready  to  accept  their  sacrifice  at  the  back-breaking 
job. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

CAPE  HORN  AGAIN 

AS  the  strength  of  the  winds  increased  and 
we  were  mostly  always  before  it,  Captain 
Nichols  concluded  the  ship  would  sail  better  if 
she  was  a  trifle  further  down  by  the  stern.  We 
had  loaded  on  an  evener  keel  in  Honolulu  than 
on  the  passage  out  and  now  it  was  decided  by 
the  skipper  to  shift  some  weight  aft.  This  was 
done  by  breaking  out  two  hundred  bags  of  sugar 
from  the  fore  part  of  the  hold  and  dragging  it 
aft  to  the  extreme  end  of  the  lazarette.  The 
weight  shifted,  about  fifteen  tons,  certainly  made 
her  steer  better  than  before. 

On  June  twenty-third  we  rove  off  a  new  main 
tops'l  halyard  purchase,  and  overhauled  the  tops'l 
tye.  The  weather  was  getting  more  and  more 
severe,  and  we  ran  before  it  under  fore  lower 
tops'l,  close  reefed  fores'l,  reefed  main  upper 
tops'l,  main  lower  tops'l,  and  mizzen  lower  tops'l, 
all  other  sail  being  on  the  yards  and  furled  with 
the  exception  of  fore  topmast  stays'l  and  jib,  both 

318 


CAPE  HORN  AGAIN  319 

hauled  amidships  as  a  precaution  against  broach- 
ing to.  The  seas  rose  gradually  and  the  ship 
rolled  heavily.  On  June  twenty-fifth  our  cargo 
shifted  in  the  fore  part  of  the  'tween  deck,  giving 
us  a  nasty  list  to  leeward  of  about  five  degrees, 
and  all  hands  were  called  at  two  in  the  mid  watch 
to  trim  cargo.  This  was  a  devil  of  a  job,  except 
that  it  was  warm,  and  kept  us  steadily  employed 
for  a  stretch  of  twelve  hours  with  only  a  short 
spell  for  grub.  Captain  Nichols  himself  came 
into  the  'tween  decks,  and  later  on  Mr.  Zerk,  my- 
self and  two  of  the  men,  Frenchy  and  Axel,  if 
I  remember  right,  went  through  the  lower  hold 
on  top  of  the  heaped-up  sugar,  where  the  sweet, 
sticky  smell,  slightly  sour,  mingled  with  the  odors 
of  the  riled-up  bilge,  and  the  complaining  of  the 
hull.  I  carried  a  lantern  and  the  rays,  against 
the  knees  and  beams,  cast  weird  shadows.  The 
hold  was  a  fearsome  place,  pitching  and  rolling 
as  if  in  mortal  agony. 

We  found  it  increasingly  necessary  to  keep  the 
pumps  going  as  the  water  worked  in  rapidly  when 
running.  A  ship  under  such  conditions  of  wind 
and  sea  is  alternately  lifted  with  her  midship  sec- 
tion carried  on  the  back  of  a  roller,  her  ends  more 
or  less  tending  to  droop,  or  she  is  in  the  trough 
between  two  wave  crests  with  her  ends  buried  and 


320  UNDER  SAIL 

the  midship  section  hanging.  Oftentimes  a  poorly 
built  craft  becomes  "hogged,"  that  is,  the  midship 
is  permanently  lifted  up  and  her  sheer  thrown 
out. 

A  constant  repetition  of  stresses  such  as  we 
were  experiencing  on  the  Fuller,  made  intense 
by  the  dead  weight  of  the  cargo  and  the  urge 
of  the  masts  carrying  their  spread  of  sail,  is  bound 
to  result  in  damage  to  the  vessel.  While  working 
in  the  hold,  the  complaining  of  her  timbers  seemed 
worse  than  ever  before  on  the  voyage.  We  often 
wondered  if  she  was  going  to  pieces,  as  indeed 
many  unreported  ships  have  done.  The  sensa- 
tion below  gave  one  an  impression  of  being  at  sea 
on  a  very  uncertain  proposition;  a  great  leaky 
wooden  box,  with  every  solitary  frame,  scantling, 
hook,  knee,  and  plank,  complaining  bitterly  at  the 
hard  fate  that  had  wrought  them  in  the  shape  of 
a  ship. 

"I  wish  the  bloody  owners  was  down  here  for 
a  day  or  two,"  said  Old  Smith,  as  we  were  shift- 
ing cargo  in  the  hold,  and  I  heartily  agreed  with 
him. 

A  few  days  later,  when  on  deck,  we  forgot  the 
forbidding  pandemonium  below;  purposely  for- 
got it,  as  so  many  people  do  with  other  things, 
and,  as  the  ship  did  not  wrack  herself  to  pieces 


CAPE  HORN  AGAIN  321 

that  voyage,  we  at  least  were  saved  a  lot  of  un- 
necessary worry. 

On  July  first  we  were  still  plowing  before  it 
under  reefed  canvas.  All  work  on  deck  was  at 
a  standstill  except  that  required  for  sailing  the 
ship,  and  by  way  of  exercise  and  safety,  the 
"farmers"  dragged  the  "bear."  Cape  pigeons 
were  everywhere  and  we  caught  a  number  of 
them  for  their  wings  by  trailing  a  fish  line  over- 
board and  hooking  them.  These  birds  are  beau- 
tifully marked  and  when  taken  on  deck  invariably 
vomit  their  dinners ;  it  almost  looks  as  though  the 
motion  of  the  ship  made  them  seasick.  High  over- 
head gray  molly-hawks  and  fulmar  gulls  soared 
white-bellied  and  noisy  against  the  leaden  sky. 

Oil  bags  were  trailed  over  the  side  as  the  high 
seas  surged  past  us  like  race  horses,  their  white 
crests  crinkling  dangerously  under  our  transom, 
and  along  the  full  sweep  of  the  bulwarks,  slop- 
ping aboard  as  we  rolled,  filling  the  gangways 
and  main  deck  with  tons  of  cold,  blue  water. 
Often,  at  the  braces,  we  would  be  buried  in  these 
seas,  a  strange  sensation  that  for  the  moment, 
as  the  weight  of  water  lifted  the  feet  from  the 
deck,  gave  one  the  sensation  of  being  detached 
from  the  ship,  of  being  out  in  the  midst  of  it  all 
thousands  of  miles  from  shore;  a  funny  feeling 


322  UNDER  SAIL 

is  this,  entirely  devoid  of  fear,  though,  of  course, 
one  held  on  like  blazes  to  whatever  was  most 
handy,  usually  the  pin  rail  or  other  substantial 
deck  fitting. 

Much  has  been  written  about  the  height  of 
waves,  and  as  we  approached  the  southern  limit 
of  our  course  and  headed  to  the  east,  well  below 
the  parallel  of  Cape  Horn,  we  got  the  full  benefit 
of  those  constant  westerly  winds  that  blow  around 
the  world.  Here  the  heaviest  straight  line  gales 
are  to  be  met  with  and  the  great  fetch  of  deep 
water  helps  to  produce  magnificent  waves  of  the 
first  magnitude. 

Lecky,  in  his  "Wrinkles,"  a  book  no  sailor 
should  be  without,  and  a  book  no  lover  of  the 
sea  who  likes  to  "be  up"  on  things  nautical  should 
neglect  to  read,  quotes  Mr.  Thomas  Stevenson 
as  the  authority  for  an  empirical  formula  that 
approximates  the  possible  maximum  height  of 
waves,  the  same  being  considered  as  a  function 
of  the  "fetch." 

This  is  given  as  a  matter  of  interest,  for  work- 
ing it  backward  it  shows  how  tremendous  the  sea 
spaces  through  which  the  rollers  that  followed  us 
had  their  being.  The  Stevenson  formula  is  as 
follows : 

Height  of  wave  in  feet  equals  the  square  root 


CAPE  HORN  AGAIN  323 

of  the  "fetch"  in  nautical  miles  multiplied  by  the 
constant  1.5. 

Or,  backward:  the  distance  a  wave  has  come 
equals  its  height,  divided  by  1.5,  and  the  quotient 
squared. 

As  the  wind  increased  in  strength  the  waves 
mounted  until  immense  billows  were  formed  that 
measured  from  50  to  60  feet  in  a  vertical  line 
from  hollow  to  crest.  This  was  easily  determined 
by  mounting  the  shrouds  and  watching  until  the 
ship  was  in  the  trough,  then  noting  the  height  of 
eye  on  a  level  with  the  wave  crests.  In  reversing 
the  Stevenson  formula  we  find  that  for  a  60-foot 
wave  a  fetch  of  at  least  1,600  miles  is  neces- 
sary.* 

*  Dr.  G.  Schott,  as  the  result  of  studying  the  form  and  height  of 
sea  waves,  claims  that  under  a  moderate  breeze  their  velocity  was 
24.6  feet  per  second,  or  16.8  miles  per  hour,  which  is  about  the 
speed  of  a  modern  sailing  vessel.  (Some  speed !)  As  the  wind 
rises,  the  size  and  speed  of  the  waves  increase.  In  a  strong  breeze 
their  length  rises  to  260  feet  and  their  speed  reaches  36.0  to  36.4 
feet  per  second.  Waves  the  period  of  which  is  9  seconds,  the 
length  400  or  425  feet,  and  the  speed  28  nautical  miles  per  hour, 
are  produced  only  in  storms.  During  a  southeast  storm  in  the 
southern  Atlantic,  Dr.  Schott  measured  waves  690  feet  long,  and 
this  was  not  a  maximum;  for  in  latitude  28  degrees  south  and 
longitude  39  degrees  west,  he  observed  waves  of  fifteen  seconds' 
period,  which  were  1,150  feet  long  with  a  velocity  of  78.7  feet  per 
second,  or  46%  nautical  miles  per  hour.  Dr.  Schott  does  not  think 
that  the  maximum  height  of  the  waves  is  very  great.  Some  ob- 
servers have  estimated  it  at  30  or  40  feet  in  a  wind  the  force  of 


324  UNDER  SAIL 

Enough  sail  had  to  be  carried  to  give  the  ship 
ample  steerage  way  when  the  walls  of  rushing 
water  passed  us,  for  incredible  as  it  may  seem 
to  those  who  have  not  had  the  experience,  the 
waves  of  the  sea  run  at  a  speed  far  greater  than 
anything  afloat  that  sails.  The  tidal  wave,  theoret- 
ical at  least,  must  have  a  speed  of  one  thousand 
miles  per  hour  in  order  that  the  tides  may  follow 
the  attraction  of  the  moon  and  girdle  the  earth 
each  twenty- four  hours ;  some  speed  even  in  these 
days  of  rapid  travel.  Here  we  have  a  vertical 
translation  of  motion  and  not  a  horizontal  shift- 
ing of  water  at  that  terrific  speed.  In  the  sea 
waves  caused  by  wind  friction,  there  is  also  sim- 
ply a  translation  of  up  and  down  motion,  except 

which  is  represented  by  11  on  the  Beaufort  scale  (the  highest 
number  of  which  is  12);  and  Dr.  Schott's  maximum  is  32  feet. 
He  believes  that  in  great  tempests  waves  of  more  than  60  feet  are 
rare,  and  even  those  of  50  feet  are  exceptional.  In  the  ordinary 
trade  winds  the  height  is  5  or  6  feet.  The  ratio  of  height  to  length 
is  about  1:33  in  a  moderate  wind,  1:18  in  a  strong  wind,  1:17  in  a 
storm;  from  which  it  follows  that  the  inclination  of  the  waves  is 
respectively  about  6,  10,  and  11  degrees.  The  ratio  to  the  height 
of  the  waves  to  the  force  of  the  wind  varies  greatly. — Scientific 
American. 

Note  on  Above  by  Author. — It  would  seem  that  the  late  Dr. 
Schott,  if  quoted  correctly,  did  not  consider  the  "fetch"  as  an 
element  in  the  process  of  wave  formation  at  sea;  but  his  maximum 
waves  were  observed  at  a  point  where  there  was  plenty  of  sea 


CAPE  HORN  AGAIN  325 

for  the  rearing  crest ;  if  the  sea  waves  moved  bod- 
ily it  would  be  extremely  dangerous  to  live  near 
the  seashore  and  the  coasts  would  soon  be  worn 
away;  also,  ships  would  not  dare  venture  upon 
the  ocean. 

This  statement  about  the  possible  destructive 
effect  of  the  sea  waves  were  they  to  move  bodily 
started  one  of  the  hottest  arguments  ever  con- 
tested in  the  fo'c'sle  of  the  Fuller.  Tired  and 
worn  as  we  were,  the  greater  part  of  an  after- 
noon watch  below  was  taken  up  in  assailing  my 
position.  Australia  could  not  see  that  I  was 
right;  even  my  staunch  pal  Frenchy  doubted  it. 
Finally  I  brought  out  my  trusty  "Wrinkles  in 
Practical  Navigation"  by  that  sailor's  friend,  the 
late  Captain  S.  T.  S.  Lecky,  who  added  laurels 
to  the  name  of  the  English  merchant  sailor  that 
will  never  fade,  and  put  them  all  to  rout.  The 
passage  on  Great  Sea  Waves  is  worth  giving, 
and  I  here  include  it. 

"The  term  'Great  Sea  Wave'  is  used  in  con- 
tradistinction to  'Great  Earth  Wave,'  which  lat- 
ter is  the  name  given  to  the  disturbance  experi- 
enced on  land. 

"An  earthquake  may  have  its  center  of  impulse 
either  inland  or  under  the  bed  of  the  ocean.  In 
the  first  case,  when  the  'Great  Earth  Wave/  or 


326  UNDER  SAIL 

superficial  undulation,  coming  from  inland, 
reaches  the  shores  of  the  sea  (unless  these  be 
precipitous,  with  deep  water)  it  may  lift  the  water 
up,  and  carry  it  out  on  its  back,  as  it  were;  for 
the  rate  of  transit  of  the  shock  is  sometimes  so 
great  that  the  heap  of  water  lifted  up  has  not 
time  to  flow  away  toward  the  sides. 

"At  Arica,  in  Peru,  and  other  places,  this  sud- 
den going  out  of  the  sea  has  made  bare  the  bot- 
tom of  the  bay,  and  left  ships  aground  which 
only  a  few  minutes  before  were  riding  quietly 
at  anchor  in  several  fathoms  of  water. 

"As  soon  as  the  shock  is  over,  the  body  of  water 
thus  forced  out  to  sea  returns  as  a  huge  wave,  and, 
on  approaching  a  sloping  shore,  rears  up  like  a 
wall,  and  breaks  with  overwhelming  force.  Some- 
times, however,  its  volume,  height,  and  velocity 
are  so  great  that  it  comes  ashore  bodily,  and 
breaks  far  inland,  causing  even  greater  destruc- 
tion to  life  and  property.  At  Arica,  the  Wateree 
— a  'double-ender'  belonging  to  the  United 
States  Navy — was  carried  inland  quite  a  dis- 
tance by  the  reflux,  and  remained  as  evidence 
for  many  years.  If  the  writer's  memory  is  not 
at  fault,  she  was  carried  clean  over  the  railway 
embankment. 

"When  the  seat  of  the  disturbance  is  beneath 


CAPE  HORN  AGAIN  327 

the  ocean,  the  'Great  Sea  Wave'  rushes  in  upon 
the  land  as  before — with  this  difference,  that  it 
is  not  preceded  by  the  water  retiring  from  the 
foreshore,  as  in  the  first  case.  .  .  . 

"About  the  most  notable  instance  of  a  '  Great 
Sea  Wave'  occurred  during  the  stupendous  and 
ever-memorable  eruption  in  August,  1883,  which 
had  for  its  center  the  Island  of  Krakatoa,  in  the 
Straits  of  Sunda.  On  this  occasion  the  loss  of 
life  amounted  to  37,000,  caused  chiefly  by  the 
sea  waves,  one  of  which  attained  the  almost  in- 
credible height  of  135  feet.  Its  effects  were 
traced  to  all  the  principal  tide  gauges  of  the 
world,  and  were  even  observed  at  Havre,  some 
11,000  miles  from  the  source  of  origin. 

"A  full  account  of  this  eruption,  which  was 
investigated  in  detail  by  committees  and  sub-com- 
mittees of  the  Royal  Society,  comprising  many 
of  the  leading  scientists  of  the  day,  has  been  pub- 
lished in  a  volume  of  nearly  500  quarto  pages, 
under  the  editorship  of  Mr.  G.  T.  Symons.  In 
this  book  every  branch  of  the  phenomenon  and 
its  effects  have  been  most  thoroughly  dealt  with, 
and  is  consequently  well  worth  perusal." 

What  Captain  Lecky  has  said  may  well  cause 
us  to  pause  and  wonder  how  a  "Great  Sea  Wave" 


328  UNDER  SAIL 

would  affect  Coney  Island  of  a  hot  Sunday  in 
midsummer. 

However,  on  the  ship  Fuller,  to  get  back  to  our 
muttons,  we  thought  of  no  Coney  Island.  We 
were  very  much  at  sea,  and  thankful  for  the 
fact  that  the  waves  could  grow  no  larger.  For 
it  is  a  fact  that  the  rapid  rate  of  progress  of 
waves  serves  to  limit  their  height,  for  as  soon  as 
the  speed  of  the  wave  becomes  about  half  that 
of  the  speed  of  the  wind  the  accelerating  effect 
of  the  wind  action  remaining  is  absorbed  by  the 
friction  of  the  water  particles,  and  the  waves 
are  at  their  maximum. 

We  had  a  splendid  opportunity  to  study  the 
waves,  and  it  was  with  a  never-failing  fascina- 
tion that  I  always  looked  for  the  occasional  group- 
ing of  three  or  four  large  rollers,  rising  above 
the  rest,  due  to  a  piling  up  because  of  differences 
in  rate  of  progress.  On  the  ships  of  an  earlier 
day,  the  fear  of  being  "pooped"  was  always  up- 
permost in  the  minds  of  timid  helmsmen,  but  on 
the  Fuller  we  were  protected  in  a  measure  by  the 
wheelhouse.  This  structure,  right  aft  against 
the  taffrail,  served  as  a  shelter,  and  at  the  same 
time  housed  the  tiller,  the  tiller  shackles,  and  the 
relieving  tackles.  The  fore  part  was  given  over 
to  the  wheel  and  was  quite  fancy,  immaculate 


CAPE  HORN  AGAIN  329 

white  gratings  under  foot,  bright  wood  panelling 
inside  and  brass  fittings  wherever  possible.  A 
sliding  shutter  overhead  was  thrown  back,  when 
on  the  wind,  to  allow  the  helmsman  a  sight  of 
the  weather  cloth  of  the  mizzen  skysail.  Just  for- 
ward of  the  binnacle,  and  taking  in  the  whole 
front  of  the  wheelhouse,  was  a  window  fitted  with 
sliding  shutters.  At  least  one  of  these  was  al- 
ways open,  for  the  officer  of  the  deck  never  came 
into  the  wheelhouse  when  on  duty,  merely  shout- 
ing his  orders  to  the  man  at  the  helm.  The  good 
sense  that  finally  provided  wheelhouses  on  sailers 
was  amply  justified.  Comparative  warmth  and 
protection  from  wind  and  sea  helped  just  that 
much  in  steering,  and  a  far  better  course  was 
held  through  the  long,  strenuous  watches  of  heavy 
weather.  The  wheelhouse  was  always  one  of 
the  most  comfortable  spots  aboard  ship. 

To  my  mind,  steering  was  a  lot  of  fun.  This 
was  specially  so  in  good  lively  weather.  The 
direct  pull  of  the  rudder,  the  "kick"  and  the 
"feel"  of  the  ship  never  failed  to  thrill  me  with 
a  sense  of  power.  Just  as  handling  "the  stick" 
on  a  good  able  boat  in  fine  brisk  weather  is  a 
sport  of  never-ending  delight,  so  the  trick  at  the 
wheel  aboard  the  Fuller  always  made  me  feel  that 
I  was  the  man  who  sailed  the  ship. 


330  UNDER  SAIL 

The  pointer  by  old  Bo'sun  Dreilick,  of  the  St. 
Mary's,  and  now  of  the  Newport,  that  ancient 
mariner  of  many,  many  voyages,  filled  with  the 
accumulated  wisdom  of  the  seven  seas,  stood  me 
in  good  stead.  "When  at  the  wheel,  work  the 
ship  in  your  mind  as  if  you  had  charge  of  the 
watch,"  was  his  advice.  Doing  this  aboard  the 
Fuller  with  such  a  consummate  sailor  as  Mr. 
Zerk  in  charge  was  an  instructive  exercise.  Dur- 
ing daytime  tricks  I  could  see  where  sails  needed 
trimming,  or  where  a  shift  of  canvas  would  help 
her,  and  would  often  have  everything  settled  in 
my  mind  before  the  mate  would  notice  things. 
At  night  it  was  different.  The  least  shift  of 
wind  or  the  slightest  change  of  weather  always 
found  him  on  the  alert.  To  an  ambitious  lad, 
anxious  to  master  the  hoary  art  of  conducting  a 
ship  across  the  surface — decidedly,  surface — of 
the  many  wrinkled  ocean,  this  practice  can  be 
recommended;  the  only  trouble  is  that  such  ambi- 
tious lads  are  now  scarce,  and  the  ships  are  scarcer 
still. 

Captain  Nichols  had  a  pleasant  way  of  coming 
up,  especially  during  the  second  dog  watch,  after 
the  mellowing  influence  of  a  Chow  dinner,  cabin 
style,  and  conversing  for  a  minute  or  two.  He 
would  let  drop  a  hint  as  to  where  we  were  and 


CAPE  HORN  AGAIN  331 

sometimes  give  me  sights  to  work  out.  While  we 
were  making  such  heavy  weather  of  it  and  the 
wheel  was  hard  to  manage,  he  told  a  story  calcu- 
lated to  make  me  anything  but  cheerful.  The 
ship  had  yawed  and  the  slap  of  the  rudder  sent 
the  wheel  over  against  all  the  "beef"  I  could 
bring  to  bear.  Then  suddenly,  when  the  pressure 
shifted  to  the  other  side,  the  wheel  came  back 
with  the  kick  of  a  stubborn  mule,  and  I  was 
bodily  lifted  off  my  feet,  saving  my  head  by 
doubling  about  the  spindle. 

"Look  out,  son!"  shouted  the  Old  Man.  "I 
had  a  sailor  thrown  up  against  the  top  of  the 
wheelhouse  once  and  his  skull  bashed  in.  That 
was  his  last  trick  at  the  wheel.  You  better  be 
careful." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

MAN  LOST  OVERBOARD 

AT  this  stage  of  the  voyage  hardship  had 
become  a  habit;  rotten  tack  and  half- 
cooked  cracker  hash  all  went  the  same  way;  we 
were  toughened  to  the  grind.  A  mess  of  weevil- 
ridden  hard  bread  was  disposed  of  by  knocking 
the  worms  out  and  eating  what  was  left,  the 
crumby,  mealy  stuff,  soggy  with  damp,  was  often 
made  more  palatable  by  heating  in  the  galley  with 
a  sprinkle  of  molasses  or  a  coating  of  our  abun- 
dant sugar.  The  working  of  the  ship  was  done 
in  grilling  discomfort  of  wet  clothing,  and  the 
cold  added  its  quota  to  our  troubles  day  after 
day.  But  for  all  that  we  were  living.  The  scenes 
of  wild  fury  that  only  those  who  have  run  before 
it  in  the  latitudes  of  Cape  Horn  can  understand, 
spread  about  us  in  a  fitting  panorama  to  the  trag- 
edy of  suffering  on  our  half-drowned  deck.  Sure- 
ly the  angels  must  have  wondered  at  the  vast  am- 
bition of  men  who  dared  such  dangers  and  lived 
such  hardships;  all  of  which  vast  ambition  could 

332 


MAN  LOST  OVERBOARD        333 

be  summed  up  in  one  sentence — the  pay  of  an 
able  seaman  out  of  the  port  of  New  York — eigh- 
teen dollars  per  month,  minus  "advance"  and  the 
deduction  for  "slops,"  leaving  the  net  earning  in 
the  neighborhood  of  ten  or  eleven  dollars. 

We  were  getting  our  romance  in  the  raw,  how- 
ever, and,  like  most  things  in  this  world,  we  were 
paying  for  the  show — working  our  way — through 
experiences  that  only  those  who  go  down  to  the 
sea  in  deepwater  sailing  ships  know  anything 
about. 

Endless  rows  of  mighty  snarling  combers,  the 
howl  of  sleet-laden  wind  tearing  through  the 
glistening  gear  aloft,  and  the  blind  rush  of  snow- 
storms, crusting  everything  with  a  powdering  of 
white,  gave  us  a  real  taste  of  weather  such  as 
I  had  never  experienced  before. 

"Thank  God  we  are  going  before  it,  and  not 
trying  to  beat  back,"  said  Kitchen  to  me  one 
night,  as  he  came  aft  to  relieve  me  at  the  wheel. 

John  Aahee,  of  the  starboard  watch,  disap- 
peared and  we  thought  he  had  been  lost  over- 
board. For  two  days  we  missed  him  and  kept 
the  news  from  Black  Joe  and  Kahemuku,  who 
were  in  a  state  of  low  spirits,  where  the  loss  of 
Aahee  would  have  well-nigh  proved  fatal.  On 
the  third  day  after  the  absence  of  John  he  sud- 


334  UNDER  SAIL 

denly  reappeared,  when  the  boys  of  our  watch 
heard  a  loud  knocking  on  the  under  side  of  the 
forehatch.  Having  enjoyed  a  two  days'  sleep 
on  the  sugar  in  the  'tween  deck,  he  climbed  in 
by  way  of  the  forepeak,  which  had  been  opened 
in  order  to  rouse  up  a  barrel  of  saltpork. 

The  mate  threatened  to  put  him  in  irons  for 
shirking  duty  and  promised  all  sorts  of  dire  pun- 
ishment. However,  the  poor  Kanaka  was  so  far 
gone  that  it  seemed  he  never  would  survive,  and 
I  believe  he  was  positively  numb  when  the  mate 
made  him  finish  out  the  last  two  hours  of  the 
watch  on  deck  by  bending  over  the  bilge  pump, 
"to  get  the  sleep  out  of  your  eyes,  you  - 
black." 

July  Fourth  found  us  nearing  the  end  of  our 
southing.  We  experienced  a  moderation  in  the 
weather,  and  set  the  fore  and  main  t'gans'ls.  The 
fore  t'gans'l  split  during  a  squall  that  blew  up 
before  it  had  been  set  an  hour,  and  we  at  once 
got  busy  in  sending  down  this  rag  and  bending 
another  sail  which  went  with  a  loud  "bang!"  dur- 
ing the  midwatch,  Second  Mate  Tom  being  on 
deck  and  Captain  Nichols  pacing  up  and  down 
on  the  forward  side  of  the  wheelhouse. 

"There  she  goes  again!"  we  heard  them  shout- 
ing out  on  deck,  amid  the  din  of  wind  and  the 


MAN  LOST  OVERBOARD        335 

booming  of  the  seas  as  they  fanned  away  from 
the  flare  of  our  bows,  when  her  head  doused  down 
into  the  back  of  a  roller.  The  report  as  the  new 
canvas  split  was  sharp  and  characteristic^  waking 
most  of  us,  as  it  was  directly  overhead. 

"I  hope  they  don't  call  us  out,"  was  the  thought 
expressed  by  all ;  we  plunked  down  in  our  blank- 
ets with  a  will  as  though  we  were  going  to  wring 
every  last  fraction  of  sleep  out  of  each  precious 
second  of  the  few  hours  of  the  watch. 

Our  days  were  becoming  more  than  merely 
strenuous,  they  were  of  that  dead  level  of  sus- 
tained hardship  where  the  senses  cease  to  regis- 
ter the  added  kicks,  but  go  on  in  a  sort  of  merci- 
ful anesthesia,  no  doubt  brought  about  by  the 
toxic  action  of  prolonged  fatigue. 

On  the  glorious  Fourth,  Chow  had  spread  him- 
self to  the  extent  of  favoring  the  fo'c'sle  mess 
with  two  large  pans  of  gingerbread,  nicely  cut 
into  squares,  so  that  everyone  would  get  his  law- 
ful whack.  This  gingerbread  was  a  special  stunt 
in  baking  such  as  I  have  never  seen  its  like  be- 
fore or  since.  The  top  crust  was  flexible,  and 
leathery,  of  a  deep  seal  brown.  The  bottom  was 
hard  and  usually  well  burnt.  By  grabbing  the 
top  crust  and  the  bottom,  the  middle  portion 
could  be  made  to  stretch  at  least  twice  its  size  and 


336  UNDER  SAIL 

then  broken  apart,  but  long  strings  like  cobwebs 
would  connect  the  two  halves.  We  blamed  it  for 
the  boils  that  appeared  on  most  of  us  toward  the 
end  of  each  passage,  for  Chow  liked  to  bake  it, 
and  we  had  it  at  least  once  a  week  or  oftener. 

Poor  Frenchy  was  taken  sick  during  those  dis- 
mal days,  and  when  he  mustered  aft  one  dog 
watch,  and  promptly  swooned,  we  picked  our 
shipmate  up  and  carried  him  to  his  bunk  with 
heavy  hearts.  If  gloom  could  kill  a  man,  Frenchy 
would  have  cashed  in  his  record  during  the  next 
few  days.  The  fo'c'sle  was  as  sad  a  hole  as  a 
man  could  think  of.  Captain  Nichols  came  for- 
ward and  examined  Frenchy  during  our  watch 
on  deck.  This  was  a  sort  of  concession  to  the 
proprieties,  as  he  only  came  forward  of  the 
main  hatch  one  other  time  on  the  voyage  that 
I  can  recall.  After  his  professional  visit  the 
steward  called  me  aft  and  handed  me  a  large 
tumbler  full  of  a  dark  liquid  called  "black  draft" 
by  Australia;  it  had  marvelous  cathartic  power. 
I  was  instructed  to  give  this  to  Frenchy  at  one 
dose.  What  it  did  to  him  in  his  weakened  state 
can  be  imagined. 

The  next  day  the  mate  came  to  the  fo'c'sle  and 
examined  the  sick  man  and  reported  aft.  Frenchy 
had  said  he  was  much  better,  which  was  a  lie, 


MAN  LOST  OVERBOARD        337 

but  a  wise  one.  I  then  prevailed  upon  Chow  to 
give  me  some  cabin  stew  that  he  was  preparing, 
and  with  this  under  his  belt  and  a  hook  pot  of 
coffee,  cabin  style,  Frenchy  felt  better.  I  also 
broke  out  a  set  of  brand-new  underwear  that  I 
had  been  saving  against  an  emergency.  It  was 
extra  heavy,  and  with  this  on  him  and  the  good 
food,  he  felt  like  a  new  man.  Chow  fed  Frenchy 
for  three  days,  and  fed  him  well,  after  I  had 
prevailed  upon  Chips  to  give  him  the  parrot, 
Jake.  Fortunately  Frenchy  recovered  before 
Jake  got  in  his  fine  work  in  the  galley,  for  in 
less  than  a  week  the  latter  was  back  under  the 
fo'c'sle  head  again,  having  started  his  talk  about 
"to  hell  with  the  grub,"  etc.  This  was  more  than 
Chow  could  stand,  and  one  night  his  cage  shot 
out  of  the  lee  door  of  the  galley  amid  a  series 
of  quirks  and  screeches,  and  Fred  rescued  the 
bird  from  a  comber  that  was  about  to  curl  over 
the  bulwark. 

Our  precautions  in  the  way  of  preventer  gear 
and  rolling  tackles  were  employed  as  on  the  pas- 
sage out,  and  the  relieving  tackles  were  hooked 
to  the  tiller  in  the  after  wheelhouse.  Captain 
Nichols  also  had  two  heavy  hawsers  bighted  about 
the  base  of  the  mizzen  mast  and  flaked  down  on 
the  cabin  top  ready  to  pay  out  through  the  quar- 


338  UNDER  SAIL 

ter  chocks  should  we  by  any  chance  broach  to. 
At  the  end  of  these  we  had  constructed  two  im- 
provised sea  anchors  or  drags.  Under  ordinary 
circumstances  we  would  have  been  hove  to  in  such 
weather  as  we  were  having,  but  the  wind  was 
fair  and  the  captain  determined  to  run  before 
it  as  long  as  possible. 

Discomfort  and  hardship  on  board  were  not 
altogether  confined  to  the  foVsle.  The  after 
cabin  was  washed  out  a  number  of  times  and  the 
mate  was  swamped  by  the  seas  backing  up  in 
the  waist  and  running  over  the  sills  of  the  cabin 
doors.  Mr.  Zerk  was  much  less  violent  during 
the  stormy  days.  The  hard  drive  to  the  south  and 
east  put  a  feeling  of  common  danger  into  the 
minds  of  all;  it  had  a  very  beneficial  effect.  So 
far  as  the  psychic  aspects  of  the  voyage  went,  we 
were  happy. 

Also,  we  were,  with  the  possible  exception  of 
Black  Joe  and  Kahemuku  of  our  watch,  and  the 
unfortunate  Aahee  of  starboard,  a  very  ready  and 
smart  crowd.  When  I  say  possible  exception  in 
referring  to  the  Kanakas  I  mean  that  these  un- 
happy people  were  always  running  with  the 
crowd,  and  while  always  in  the  way  they  bent 
what  beef  they  had  to  any  gear  we  might  be  haul- 
ing on.  Sailors  have  a  weird  wail,  or  dirge,  with- 


MAN  LOST  OVERBOARD        339 

out  words,  to  which  they  sway  at  brace  or  hal- 
yards and  Black  Joe  became  proficient  in  this, 
throwing  his  whole  spirit  into  the  thing.  Even  in 
those  days  of  actuality  the  perfect  picture  of 
glistening  oilskins  and  the  splashing  sea,  with  the 
human  cry  of  labor  mounting  above  the  snap  of 
the  storm,  was  driven  home  to  me — and  I  was 
mighty  wet  and  tired,  too. 

On  July  tenth  we  were  still  going  large  before 
a  heavy  sea.  Second  Mate  Tom  was  on  deck  in 
the  afternoon  watch  and,  the  wind  having  mod- 
erated some,  his  crowd  were  aloft  shaking  the 
reef  out  of  the  fore  upper  tops'l.  Aahee  was  otf 
the  lee  yardarm  and  as  the  sail  dropped  a  squall 
of  wind  slapped  along  suddenly,  and  he,  holding 
on  to  the  jackstay  with  all  of  his  might,  turned 
a  complete  somersault  as  his  heavy  boots  shot 
up  from  the  footrope.  He  was  wrenched  from 
the  yard,  his  body  struck  the  belly  of  the  reefed 
foresail  and  dashed  into  the  sea.  Some  claimed 
he  also  struck  one  of  the  jib  boom  guys. 

All  hands  were  called  and  the  ship  hove  to. 
Mr.  Zerk  stormed  out  on  deck  mad  clean  through, 
and  Captain  Nichols  conned  the  wheel,  myself 
and  another  man  from  starboard  being  at  the 
spokes.  A  half  barrel  of  oil  was  broached  into 
the  sea  as  we  braced  sharp  and  put  down  the 


340  UNDER  SAIL 

helm,  manning  the  lee  fore  braces  with  great 
speed.  The  main  spencer  was  hauled  out  and 
reefed  spanker  set  while  we  braced  sharp  forward. 
Mr.  Morstad  had  thrown  over  two  life  buoys,  but 
we  could  not  see  either  one  of  them.  As  we  hove 
to  the  seas  swept  over  us  with  redoubled  fury, 
the  racket  aloft  being  frightful.  We  then  re- 
alized how  hard  it  was  blowing.  Captain  Nichols 
estimated  it  at  from  9  to  10  on  the  Beaufort 
Scale,*  and  the  Fuller  bore  down  almost  on  her 
beam  ends. 

To  launch  a  boat  would  have  been  madness 
and  we  watched  the  sea  for  a  sight  of  Aahee  or 
of  the  life  buoys,  all,  however,  without  success, 
as  no  doubt  he  had  drowned  at  once  and  the  buoys 
were  several  miles  to  windward,  while  we  were 
drifting  off  faster  than  they. 

Once  hove  to  we  shortened  down  for  the  night 

*  The  Beaufort  Notation,  to  indicate  the  force  of  the  wind. 

0  Calm. 

1  Light  airs:  just  sufficient  to  give  steerage  way. 

2  Light  breeze.         Ship  under  all  plain  sail  1  to  2  knots. 


8  Gentle  breeze. 
4  Moderate  breeze. 


5  Fresh  breeze.     Ship  close  hauled  can  ca  ry  Skysails. 


6  Strong  breeze. 

7  Moderate  gale. 

8  Fresh  gale. 

9  Strong  gale. 


3  to  4 

4  to  5 


Topgallant  sails. 
Reefed  topsails. 
Lower  topsails,  courses. 
Lower    topsails;    reefed 


courses. 

10  Whole  gale.     Hove  to,  under  main  lower  topsail  and  reefed  foresail. 

11  Storm.  "  under  storm  staysails. 

12  Hurricane.          "       "  under  bare  poles. 


MAN  LOST  OVERBOARD        341 

under  lower  tops'ls  and  storm  stays'ls.  The  death 
of  Aahee  was  tragic  in  the  extreme;  Kahemuku 
cried  in  his  bunk,  and  no  means  could  be  found 
to  stop  him.  Black  Joe  said  nothing,  he  ate  in 
silence,  and  when  we  went  below  he  turned  in 
without  a  word. 

They  were  one  less  to  starboard;  only  a  weak 
brown  man  gone,  a  poor  piece  of  human  wreck- 
age washed  loose  from  that  plaything  of  the 
storm,  a  ship  at  sea. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

AUSTRALIA'S  STORY 

TT^OLLOWING  Frenchy's  sickness,  Aus- 
X/  tralia  and  I  chummed  together  as  Frenchy, 
by  common  consent,  was  allowed  to  perch  on  a 
coil  of  rope  on  the  main  hatch  just  forward  of 
the  mast  during  the  night  watches,  the  mate  wink- 
ing at  this  whenever  the  weather  was  not  too 
bad. 

On  such  nights  Australia  and  I  would  stump 
the  wet  deck  and  we  got  to  be  very  good  friends. 
Unlike  so  many  of  the  crew,  I  remember  his  name, 
John  Roth,  and  from  what  he  told  me  at  various 
times  I  knew  that  he  had  come  from  a  good  fam- 
ily, as  such  things  go,  people  in  easy  circum- 
stances. His  grandfather  had  settled  in  England, 
coming  originally  from  southern  Germany,  and 
his  father  had  taken  over  and  extended  a  business 
founded  at  that  time.  Roth  had  received  a  good 
education,  evidently,  though  he  was  of  a  shift- 
less temperament  and  his  talk  savored  of  the 
fo'c'sle  and  not  the  schools.  He  unburdened 

342 


AUSTRALIA'S  STORY 


343 


344  UNDER  SAIL 

himself  as  we  tramped  the  deck  and  I  found  him 
to  be  a  charming  companion  and  much  deeper 
than  was  my  idea  of  the  devil-may-care  deserter 
from  the  Falls  of  Ettrick,  who  had  impressed  me 
as  a  sort  of  scatterbrained  ne'er-do-well,  when  we 
first  bumped  against  each  other  in  the  fo'c'sle  of 
the  Fuller,  for  my  bunk  was  ahead  of  his,  as  we 
settled  down  in  that  first  mix-up,  months  before. 

"I'll  tell  you,  Felix,  there's  lots  of  blokes  who 
have  had  less  chances  than  me,  and  is  well  off 
today.  I  always  got  in  the  way  of  trouble  and 
you  bet  trouble  never  missed  me  once." 

This  sounded  like  something  new,  so  I  kept  my 
mouth  closed  instead  of  replying  after  the  usual 
manner  of  deck  chums  making  conversation. 

"When  my  father  died,"  went  on  Australia, 
after  a  long  pause,  "my  brother  took  the  man- 
agement of  the  business.  He  was  in  the  building 
trade  and  doing  very  well  at  it,  supporting  moth- 
er, two  sisters,  brother  and  myself.  My  brother 
James  had  quit  school  and  was  helping  father 
at  the  time  of  his  death.  I  was  at  school  near 
Winchester,  much  to  my  disgust,  for  I  hated 
school  and  wanted  to  go  to  sea."  Australia 
paused.  He  was  strangely  sober  and  we  paced 
on  deck  for  a  turn  or  two  in  silence.  Then  he 
continued,  and  I  remember  how  his  words  came 


AUSTRALIA'S  STORY  345 

slowly  but  with  a  long-forgotten  attention  to 
choice  and  grammar. 

"On  the  settlement  of  the  estate  of  my  father 
a  small  legacy  of  four  hundred  pounds  was  left 
me,  and  with  the  business  safe  in  the  care  of 
my  brother  I  felt  at  liberty  to  quit  school  and  go 
to  sea.  I  had  an  idea  that  I  would  settle  down 
somewhere  with  my  money  and  be  a  gentleman 
planter,  or  something  like  that.  At  any  rate,  I 
cashed  in  and,  with  more  money  in  my  pocket 
than  was  good  for  me,  put  to  sea  in  the  fo'c'sle 
of  a  ship  out  of  London  bound  for  Melbourne. 
I'll  call  her  the  Iverclyde,  that's  near  enough. 
They  shipped  me  'ordinary,'  and  when  I  handed 
the  mate  a  five-quid  note,  as  I  asked  for  the  job, 
he  was  sure  he  had  hooked  a  fool,  or  a  lunatic. 
The  rest  of  my  fortune  I  carried  in  a  wallet  in 
the  bottom  of  my  chest,  a  place  no  one  would  ever 
think  of  searching  for  money. 

"The  Iverclyde  was  an  iron  ship,  a  wet  ship,  if 
you  know  what  I  mean.  We  was  drowned  and 
we  was  starved,  but  never  overworked.  Once  the 
crowd  went  aft  and  told  the  mate  they  wanted 
to  put  the  main  topgans'l  on  her,  as  she  was  roll- 
ing so.  The  mate  he  says,  'All  right,  Bo'sun,  set 
the  main  topgallant  sail,'  and  that  is  the  way  we 
worked. 


346  UNDER  SAIL 

"We  ran  into  Table  Bay,  with  a  sprung  bow- 
sprit, lifted  loose  of  the  gammoning  when  she 
was  taken  aback  while  the  mate  was  sleeping 
against  the  binnacle.  This  was  my  chance,  and 
by  use  of  another  note,  I  got  smuggled  ashore 
with  a  suit  of  dirty  dungaree  and  a  big  bundle  of 
damp  Bank  of  England  notes,  leaving  the  rest 
of  my  kit  behind.  I  soon  got  some  decent  clothes, 
and  put  up  at  the  Royal  Hotel.  The  life  in  Cape 
Town  suited  me,  I  made  friends  among  a  fast 
bunch,  spent  the  filthy,  and  enjoyed  the  air  of 
mystery  that  surrounded  me.  No  one  ever  sus- 
pected that  I  was  from  the  Iverclyde,  though  I 
saw  our  captain  walk  by  the  hotel  once;  in  fact 
I  was  very  safe  there. 

"Shortly  after  the  ship  left,  I  found  that  I  was 
being  shadowed.  Some  bloke  was  always  in  my 
wake.  I  tried  to  get  him  and  blow  him  to  a  dog 
watch  of  drinks  and  find  out  his  game,  but  it  was 
no  use.  When  they  saw  I  was  on  to  them,  for 
they  watched  every  move  I  made,  and  I  was 
spending  free,  the  gentleman  aft  gives  the  sig- 
nal and  I  am  arrested.  It  seems  that  an  embez- 
zler was  wanted  and  they  had  me  spotted  for  the 
game.  Not  knowing  the  lay  they  was  on,  I 
did  not  get  my  story  straight  at  first,  thinking 
they  was  still  after  me  for  deserting  the  Iverclyde. 


AUSTRALIA'S  STORY  347 

This  was  bad.  They  chucked  me  in  jail  and  kept 
me  there  for  three  months,  lifting  what  was  left 
of  my  wad.  'I  say,  is  this  all  that's  left?'  the 
officer  exclaims,  counting  fKe  notes.  They  ex- 
pected to  pick  up  about  ten  thousand  pounds. 

"When  the  correctness  of  my  story  was  proved, 
they  let  me  go.  I  heard  that  the  blackleg  they 
was  after  was  caught  in  Calcutta. 

"Sure,  they  let  me  out  and  gave  me  what  was 
left  of  my  wad.  Almost  half  gone,  but  then  I 
had  three  months  of  lodging  and  tucker  free  and 
a  little  over  two  hundred  saved.  I  was  a  wiser 
one  after  that,  but  I  was  still  a  fool,  which  was 
something  I  did  not  find  out  till  later. 

"In  order  to  get  away  from  Cape  Town,  and 
at  the  same  time  follow  my  idea  of  settling  down 
in  some  warm  climate  where  a  man  can  become 
a  planter  and  have  a  lot  of  blacks  do  the  work  for 
him,  I  shipped  before  the  mast  on  the  Dutch  bark 
Java,  out  of  Amsterdam,  bound  for  Batavia.  This 
craft  had  put  in  short  of  water  and  several  hands 
who  had  died  on  the  passage  down  to  the  Cape. 
The  Java  was  unlucky.  The  most  unlucky  tub 
that  ever  sailed,  except  the  'Flying  Dutchman,  but 
unlucky  enough  for  any  real  ship.  We  winds  up 
in  a  typhoon,  a  hundred  miles  west  of  the  Sunda 
Strait.  The  masts  went  by  the  board  and  at  the 


350  UNDER  SAIL 

daylight  I  was  met  by  a  man  coming  out  from 
behind  a  clump  of  small  trees.  He  was  dressed 
in  dirty  white  clothes  and  had  a  young  beard.  I 
told  him  the  yarn  of  the  wreck  and  asked  him 
where  I  was.  He  directed  me  to  Anjer,  about 
thirty  miles  east  along  the  coast.  I  asked  him  if 
he  could  give  me  some  clothes.  He  said  yes,  if 
I  would  wait  where  I  was  he  would  be  back  in 
about  two  hours. 

"Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  as  they  say, 
I  waited,  being  a  natural  born  fool  and  not  know- 
ing any  better.  Still,"  and  Australia  paused  in 
his  extraordinary  tale,  "I  don't  think  anyone 
else  would  have  done  different.  I  was  so  glad 
about  meeting  this  man  that  I  carefully  unrolled 
a  wet  five-pound  note  and  set  it  out  on  a  rock  to 
dry,  weighting  it  with  a  little  stone.  I  wanted 
to  square  him  for  his  trouble. 

"About  noon  my  man  shows  up.  He  has  a  suit 
of  white  cotton  clothes  that  were  not  any  too  new, 
a  pair  of  shoes,  brogans,  they  call  them,  and  a 
straw  sun  helmet.  He  also  gave  me  a  half  loaf 
of  bread,  after  I  handed  him  the  five-quid  note. 
This  took  his  breath  away,  so  he  got  reckless. 

"About  two  miles  out  of  Anjer  I  was  met  by 
two  constables.  They  ran  at  me  so  fast  that  I 
knew  there  was  something  wrong  and  before  I 


AUSTRALIA'S  STORY  351 

could  say  Jack  Robinson  they  had  the  bracelets 
on  me,  and  was  going  through  my  pockets  for 
weapons.  They  got  the  wad,  and  that  settled  me. 
'Gawd,'  I  says,  'what  am  I  in  for  now?'  My 
clothes  was  stripped  off  of  me  in  the  jail,  and 
took  as  evidence,  I  found  out  later.  When  my 
shoes  came  off,  my  left  foot,  for  I  wore  no  sox, 
was  a  dull  red,  like  rust — this  was  blood. 

'You  are  charged  with  murdering  the  keeper 
of  the  Fourth  Point  Light!' 

"  'Great  Gawd!'  I  cries,  'what  next!' 
"Well,  they  has  me,  and  no  mistake.  I  am  a 
British  subject  and  I  set  up  a  roar.  The  Consul 
was  called,  and  I  tried  my  best  to  get  him  to 
believe  my  story.  It  was  no  go.  'Bally  rot!'  he 
says. 

"I  was  sent  to  Batavia,  and  held  for  murder. 
Fortunately  my  story  about  what  happened  in 
Cape  Town  was  verified  in  an  unexpected  man- 
ner or  things  would  have  gone  hard  with  me. 
What  saved  me  was  a  newspaper  story  of  my 
jail  term  in  that  port,  my  belt  of  money,  and  my 
hard  luck  in  being  taken  for  the  crook.  This 
tallied  with  my  yarn  when  I  gave  an  account  of 
myself,  and  the  fact  that  the  Java  had  sailed,  as  I 
said,  and  the  story  of  the  salvage  crew  put  on 
her,  sent  on  from  Singapore  when  the  steamer 


350  UNDER  SAIL 

daylight  I  was  met  by  a  man  coming  out  from 
behind  a  clump  of  small  trees.  He  was  dressed 
in  dirty  white  clothes  and  had  a  young  beard.  I 
told  him  the  yarn  of  the  wreck  and  asked  him 
where  I  was.  He  directed  me  to  Anjer,  about 
thirty  miles  east  along  the  coast.  I  asked  him  if 
he  could  give  me  some  clothes.  He  said  yes,  if 
I  would  wait  where  I  was  he  would  be  back  in 
about  two  hours. 

"Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  as  they  say, 
I  waited,  being  a  natural  born  fool  and  not  know- 
ing any  better.  Still,"  and  Australia  paused  in 
his  extraordinary  tale,  "I  don't  think  anyone 
else  would  have  done  different.  I  was  so  glad 
about  meeting  this  man  that  I  carefully  unrolled 
a  wet  five-pound  note  and  set  it  out  on  a  rock  to 
dry,  weighting  it  with  a  little  stone.  I  wanted 
to  square  him  for  his  trouble. 

"About  noon  my  man  shows  up.  He  has  a  suit 
of  white  cotton  clothes  that  were  not  any  too  new, 
a  pair  of  shoes,  brogans,  they  call  them,  and  a 
straw  sun  helmet.  He  also  gave  me  a  half  loaf 
of  bread,  after  I  handed  him  the  five-quid  note. 
This  took  his  breath  away,  so  he  got  reckless. 

"About  two  miles  out  of  Anjer  I  was  met  by 
two  constables.  They  ran  at  me  so  fast  that  I 
knew  there  was  something  wrong  and  before  I 


AUSTRALIA'S  STORY  351 

could  say  Jack  Robinson  they  had  the  bracelets 
on  me,  and  was  going  through  my  pockets  for 
weapons.  They  got  the  wad,  and  that  settled  me. 
'Gawd,'  I  says,  'what  am  I  in  for  now?'  My 
clothes  was  stripped  off  of  me  in  the  jail,  and 
took  as  evidence,  I  found  out  later.  When  my 
shoes  came  off,  my  left  foot,  for  I  wore  no  sox, 
was  a  dull  red,  like  rust — this  was  blood. 

"  'You  are  charged  with  murdering  the  keeper 
of  the  Fourth  Point  Light!' 

"  'Great  Gawd!'  I  cries,  'what  next!' 

"Well,  they  has  me,  and  no  mistake.  I  am  a 
British  subject  and  I  set  up  a  roar.  The  Consul 
was  called,  and  I  tried  my  best  to  get  him  to 
believe  my  story.  It  was  no  go.  'Bally  rot!'  he 
says. 

"I  was  sent  to  Batavia,  and  held  for  murder. 
Fortunately  my  story  about  what  happened  in 
Cape  Town  was  verified  in  an  unexpected  man- 
ner or  things  would  have  gone  hard  with  me. 
What  saved  me  was  a  newspaper  story  of  my 
jail  term  in  that  port,  my  belt  of  money,  and  my 
hard  luck  in  being  taken  for  the  crook.  This 
tallied  with  my  yarn  when  I  gave  an  account  of 
myself,  and  the  fact  that  the  Java  had  sailed,  as  I 
said,  and  the  story  of  the  salvage  crew  put  on 
her,  sent  on  from  Singapore  when  the  steamer 


352  UNDER  SAIL 

arrived,  helped  me.  The  British  Consul  took  up 
matters,  and  by  spending  the  greater  part  of 
what  I  had  left,  funds  that  were  again  at  my  dis- 
posal, I  cleared  myself.  However,  in  the  mean- 
time, my  people  in  England  had  got  the  story 
of  my  being  a  murderer  with  full  details  of  the 
horrible  deed.  It  killed  my  mother,  who  was  in 
feeble  health.  Nothing  of  the  clearing  up  ever 
reached  the  other  members  of  my  family  and  to 
them  I  am  a  murderer  to  this  day. 

"I  left  Batavia  on  a  tramp  steamer  bound  for 
Sydney,  a  wiser  young  fellow  than  ever  before, 
also  a  much  poorer  one,  for  I  had  just  two  pounds 
in  my  pocket  when  I  went  ashore. 

"My  narrow  escapes  had  the  effect  of  making 
me  restless.  In  the  next  two  years  I  worked 
at  every  trade  and  calling  that  I  could  lay  my 
hands  to.  I  tried  sheepherding,  I  went  into 
the  bush  and  tried  farming,  working  as  a  laborer. 
I  worked  as  a  blacksmith  in  Sydney  after  picking 
up  something  of  the  trade  travelling  with  a  small 
circus.  In  Melbourne  I  started  a  very  good  busi- 
ness in  peddling  milk.  I  gave  this  up  as  soon 
as  it  began  to  pay  me  and  I  could  afford  the  help 
to  make  it  easier.  Again  I  shipped  to  sea.  News 
of  my  mother's  death  had  reached  me,  and  I 
worked  my  way  back  to  England.  My  brother 


AUSTRALIA'S  STORY  353 

had  married  and  would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
me.  My  name  was  never  mentioned  in  his  home. 
Both  of  my  sisters  had  married  and  moved  away, 
one  to  Scotland  and  one  to  America — Canada,  I 
think.  Then  I  went  to  Liverpool  and  shipped 
on  the  iron  bark  Falls  of  Ettrick.  Now  that  is 
my  story.  Rotten,  eh?  Well,  I  hope  some  day 
to  settle  down,  and  quit  this  thing  for  good.  I 
have  cheated  the  rope  out  of  a  good  stiff  by  help- 
ing along  the  murderer  with  five-quid,  and  nearly 
paid  for  it  with  my  own  neck ;  I  almost  got  mine 
a  number  of  times  before  and  since.  If  I  had  a 
decent  chance  I  could  make  good,  if  I  only  could 
settle  down  and  stick." 

"You  ought  to  get  married;  that  would  settle 
you,  Australia,  old  boy,"  I  offered,  somewhat 
taken  aback  at  the  recital,  for  it  was  poured  out 
from  the  heart.  I  knew  that  a  strange  sort  of 
adventurer  was  telling  me  the  things  closest  to 
his  soul.  What  I  said  jarred. 

"Married?  Say,  kid,  I've  tried  that  game. 
Yes,  sir,  I've  been  married  twice,  and  I  suppose 
they  could  jail  me  for  that,  too." 

"Twice?" 

"You  bet.  Once  in  Melbourne,  and  again  in 
London,  when  I  came  home  and  found  I  was  a 
murderer  yet." 


354  UNDER  SAIL 

"What  happened  to  your  wives?" 

"I  don't  know.  Guess  they  are  married  again, 
leastways  the  one  in  London  is.  She  was  no 
good.  Thought  I  was  a  rich  bushman  and 
wanted  to  get  in  on  the  wad.  But  the  wife  in 
Melbourne  was  decent.  I  should  have  stuck; 
that  was  when  I  was  in  the  milk  business."  Aus- 
tralia paused.  "I  hope  she  sold  that  for  a  de- 
cent figure.  You  see  she  was  expecting  some- 
thing, and — oh,  rats — what  am  I  saying— 

"Weather  main  brace!"  sang  out  the  mate,  and 
in  a  moment  we  were  tailing  to  the  rope,  and 
Fred  and  Black  Joe  were  wailing  in  the  night  as 
we  swigged  at  it.  The  watch  was  nearly  over  and 
Mr.  Zerk  was  working  the  sleep  out  of  us.  As 
for  me,  I  was  wide  awake.  Australia  never  men- 
tioned his  story  again,  except  to  say  in  an  off- 
hand way  that  it  was  all  a  lie  about  being  married 
twice.  "I  just  wanted  to  see  how  far  I  could  go 
with  you,"  he  said. 

Australia  was  a  wiry  chap  of  medium  size,  full 
of  life  and  a  distinct  ornament  to  the  f o Vsle.  He 
was  never  at  a  loss  for  a  witty  retort  and  his  sal- 
lies at  the  expense  of  the  mate — during  the  watch 
below  of  course — furnished  endless  amusement. 
He  always  shaved  in  port  except  for  a  diminutive 
mustache,  but  at  sea  he  sported  a  growth  of  beard, 


AUSTRALIA'S  STORY  355 

merely  trimming  this  with  a  large  pair  of  scissors 
such  as  tailors  use  for  cutting  heavy  cloth,  a  mur- 
derous weapon  that  he  carried  in  a  canvas  sheath 
nailed  to  the  inside  cover  of  his  sea  chest. 

Unlike  sailors  on  shorter  runs,  and  that  hybrid 
animal,  the  deckhand  in  steam,  the  sailor  on  board 
a  deepwater  ship  has  a  sense  of  home.  He  occu- 
pies the  same  bunk  for  a  year  or  more  at  a  time, 
and  in  spite  of  the  way  he  is  robbed,  or  perhaps 
I  should  say,  was  robbed,  he  carried  a  small  ac- 
cumulation of  household  goods,  things  that  the 
crimps  and  boarding  masters  did  not  consider 
worth  while  stealing.  Every  bunk  in  a  measure 
reflected  the  personal  taste  of  the  owner. 

Australia  was  one  of  the  few  men  on  board 
the  Fuller  who  owned  a  mirror.  When  he  wanted 
to  nail  this  up  under  the  lamp  in  the  f  o'c'sle,  there 
was  a  storm  of  protest,  and  the  damning  imple- 
ment of  an  effete  civilization  was  again  restored 
to  his  chest.  A  mirror  was  only  permissible  on 
rare  occasions  when  a  man  shaved;  otherwise  it 
was  taboo. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

STORMY   DAYS 

DIEGO  RAMIREZ  ahead,  a  point  on  the 
port  bow!"  This  was  the  news  that  greeted 
us  as  we  turned  out  on  the  morning  of  July  17th, 
1898.  It  was  Sunday,  cloudy,  but  clear,  one  of 
the  first  days  without  snow  or  hail  since  the  fourth 
of  July.  Off  to  the  E.  S.  E.  was  a  sail  and  by 
the  long  time  it  took  us  to  raise  her  we  knew  she 
too  was  a  homeward  bounder. 

The  morning  watch  had  set  all  of  the  tops'ls, 
shaking  the  reefs  out  of  the  fore  and  main,  and 
we  were  sent  aloft  to  loose  the  main  t'gans'l, 
sheeting  home  and  hoisting  away  with  a  will.  As 
we  raced  along  under  the  lowering  gray,  the  rocky 
islands  of  Diego  Ramirez  stood  out  with  the  dis- 
tinctness of  cameos  cut  against  the  light  skyline 
to  the  northeast.  The  breaking  and  dashing  of 
the  white  frothy  seas  marked  them  well  and 
served  to  remind  us  that  we  were  plowing  in  a 
fairish  sort  of  a  seaway  ourselves.  Our  added 
sail  made  the  riding  better  and  we  hove  the  log 

356 


STORMY  DAYS 


357 


after  getting  the  t'gans'l  on,  showing  a  speed  of 
ten  knots. 

As  it  was  Sunday,  there  was  no  objection  to 


SHIP'S  HEAD    MExt.  \tan  li  pi  E,       ISLAND  THREE  POINTS 

FORWARD    OF     PORT    BEAM   '  ct-   NORTH     '(Magnetic) 


ISLAND*    BEARING      N.N.W. 


ISLAND       BEARING 
DISTANT    4  MILES 


(Magnetic) 


our  doing  some  sightseeing;  I  got  the  ship's  head 
from  the  wheelhouse  and  went  forward  and  made 
sketches  of  the  island,  the  first  one,  bearing  north, 
magnetic.  This  gave  a  continuous  line  with  a 
cleft  near  the  eastern  side.  A  few  minutes  more 
and  the  cleft  opened  up,  showing  Diego  Ramirez 


358  UNDER  SAIL 

to  be  at  least  two  separate  islands.  My  sketches 
were  made  on  N. ;  N.N.W. ;  and  N.W. 

Australia  also  got  busy  with  his  case  of  cray- 
ons, for  he  was  an  artist  as  well  as  a  story-teller, 
and  his  sketch  of  Diego  Ramirez  is  one  of  the 
most  cherished  souvenirs  in  my  scrapbook. 

All  hands  gazed  at  that  bit  of  weather-scarred 
rock  jutting  up  from  the  troubled  waters,  with 
a  feeling  of  reverence.  It  was  the  turning  point, 
the  high  tide  of  distress  on  many  a  hard  voyage 
into  those  stormy  waters.  Kahemuku  and  Black 
Joe  watched  it  with  a  sort  of  fascination.  No 
green-capped  cliffs  with  white  cataracts  dashing 
into  a  warm  deep  sea  as  at  their  native  islands 
of  Hawaii.  Not  a  scrap  of  verdure,  not  a  ray  of 
hope,  only  black-blue  water  and  sullen  sky  with 
between  them  the  primal  crags  rearing  their  worn 
heads  above  the  sea. 

Since  John  Aahee  was  lost,  the  brown-skinned 
brothers  had  merely  suffered  to  exist.  They 
talked  much  together,  and  Aahee  was  mentioned 
constantly.  We  did  our  best  to  cheer  them, 
though  to  tell  the  truth  we  all  felt  the  death 
keenly.  To  starboard  they  missed  him  more  than 
we.  Second  Mate  Tom  was  of  course  blamed  by 
the  fo'c'sle  judges,  though  he  had  nothing  to  do 


STORMY  DAYS  359 

with  the  accident  any  more  than  having  been  on 
deck  at  the  time. 

As  we  quickly  dropped  Diego  Ramirez  on  the 
quarter,  we  went  below  at  noon  for  our  dinner. 
The  day  was  incredibly  fine  for  that  season  and 
we  made  the  most  of  it.  We  were  then  tearing 
past  the  south  point  and  would  soon  get  some 
northing  into  the  course.  Cape  Horn  lay  far  be- 
low the  horizon  to  the  north,  and  from  the  prog- 
ress we  were  making  we  had  hopes  of  establishing 
a  record,  for  the  Fuller  at  least.  We  had  made 
the  run  from  Honolulu  to  Diego  Ramirez  in  for- 
ty-five days ;  as  a  matter  of  advance  information 
to  the  reader,  it  took  us  sixty-three  days  more  to 
sail  from  Ramirez  to  the  Delaware  Capes,  our 
passage  as  a  whole  merely  proving  a  very  fair 
one  of  one  hundred  and  eight  days,  against  one 
hundred  and  twenty-one  on  the  passage  out.  This 
difference  of  thirteen  days  in  favor  of  going  east 
can  be  attributed  to  the  westerly  winds  off  Cape 
Horn.  From  this  it  will  be  seen  that  the  ship 
A.  J.  Fuller  was  not  the  fastest  craft  afloat,  and 
yet  she  was  far  from  being  the  slowest. 

The  sail  ahead  of  us  proved  to  be  a  Norwegian 
bark.  We  came  up  to  her  in  handsome  style,  our 
ensign  snapping  from  the  monkey  gaff,  and  as 
her  colors  went  up,  we  "dipped"  in  the  long 


360  UNDER  SAIL 

graceful  salute  of  the  sea.  The  bark  made  her 
number  and  asked  to  be  reported.  She  was 
droughing  along  at  a  slow  pace  under  reefed 
main  upper  tops'l,  lower  tops'ls,  and  reefed  fore- 
s'l,  showing  a  leg-o'-mutton  sail  on  the  mizzen. 
We  were  then  under  all  plain  sail  to  royals,  and 
must  have  made  a  glorious  picture  to  the  sailors 
lining  the  sides  of  the  square-head  craft.  Mo- 
ments like  that  make  one  tingle  with  pride  at  the 
sight  of  the  colors,  a  sort  of  pride  that  seldom 
comes  to  those  who  sail  under  the  flag  in  these  de- 
generate days. 

From  Diego  Ramirez  we  shaped  a  course  to 
take  us  well  clear  of  Staten  Land;  the  familiar 
sound  of  this  name  was  like  home,  and  I  found 
myself  talking  about  it  in  the  dog  watch  with 
peculiar  relish.  Old  Smith  of  starboard  joined  us, 
and  told  of  having  run  through  the  Strait  of  Le 
Maire  on  the  passage  to  the  eastward.  This  is 
safe  enough,  though  careful  skippers  like  Captain 
Nichols  prefer  the  wider  reaches  of  the  Atlantic 
to  the  Le  Maire  Strait,  dividing  Staten  Land 
from  the  larger  island  of  Terra  del  Fuego. 

As  we  brought  the  wind  about  two  points  abaft 
the  port  beam,  the  sky  started  to  thicken  and  dur- 
ing the  early  watches  of  the  night  we  were  again 
treated  to  real  Cape  Horn  weather.  At  midnight 


STORMY  DAYS  361 

we  took  in  the  lighter  canvas,  reefing  the  main 
t'gans'l.  By  eight  bells  in  the  midwatch  we  had 
her  staggering  under  reefed  fore  and  main  upper 
tops'ls,  lower  tops'ls  and  reefed  fores'l,  fore  top- 
mast stays'l,  and  reefed  spanker.  We  were  mak- 
ing heavy  weather  of  it,  the  seas  dashing  high 
over  the  f  o'c'sle  head  as  she  buried  her  nose  when- 
ever a  big  roller  tumbled  in  under  the  counter. 

There  was  no  warm  breakfast,  Chow  having 
been  flooded  that  morning  by  a  heavy  sea.  The 
door  to  the  carpenter  shop  was  stove  in  and  poor 
Chips  was  in  a  state  bordering  on  hysteria,  with 
all  of  his  tools  wet.  To  add  to  our  woe,  and 
looked  upon  as  a  sign  of  bad  luck  by  all  hands, 
the  parrot  was  drowned  when  his  cage  unshipped 
from  the  hook  under  the  fo'c'sle  head  and  he  was 
deposited  in  the  scuppers.  He  lay  there  all  night 
and  was  picked  up  by  the  starboard  watch  in  the 
morning.  Poor  Jake,  of  all  the  sad  birds  that 
ever  cruised  on  stormy  water,  you  were  the  un- 
luckiest  as  well  as  the  most  profane. 

Everything  was  afloat  fore  and  aft.  The  fo'- 
c'sle was  swimming  and  the  after  cabin  was  also 
washed  out  when  a  storm  shutter  carried  away 
on  one  of  the  ports.  Brenden,  Frenchy  and  I 
were  called  aft  during  our  watch  below  on  Mon- 
day forenoon  and  told  to  swab  up  the  captain's 


362  UNDER  SAIL 

quarters.  We  worked  the  better  part  of  an  hour 
in  these  palatial  spaces,  our  caps  respectfully 
tucked  into  our  pockets.  The  captain  gave  us  a 
large  tin  of  cabin  roast  beef,  and  a  half  can  of 
fine  pilot  bread,  as  a  reward  for  our  trouble.  Of 
course  we  shared  this  forward  and  we  had  a 
rather  elaborate  spread  that  noon — a  clammy 
cracker  hash  which  we  threw  overboard,  hot  slops, 
and  the  grub  from  aft. 

"Give  me  meat  like  this  and  they  can  take  my 
watch  below  any  day,"  was  Frenchy's  opinion  of 
the  canned  roast  beef.  At  about  the  same  time, 
no  doubt  many  of  our  soldiers  were  dying  of  this 
stuff  under  the  hot  sun  of  Cuba, — they  called  it 
embalmed  beef. 

Ramirez  is  in  56  degrees  29  minutes  south,  cor- 
responding in  latitude  to  the  Wrangell  Astro- 
nomical Station  just  south  of  Sitka,  Alaska. 
When  we  remember  that  the  Antarctic  winter  is 
even  more  severe  than  that  of  the  northern  hem- 
isphere, it  will  be  possible  to  get  some  idea  of  the 
state  of  the  sea  through  which  we  were  racing. 
Running  north  between  Staten  Land  and  the 
Falklands  we  encountered  a  succession  of  storms 
that  were  calculated  to  impress  us  with  the  qual- 
ity of  the  Cape.  We  were  under  shortened  can- 
vas most  of  the  time,  and  as  the  winds  became 


STORMY  DAYS  863 

very  unsteady,  we  were  compelled  to  wear  ship 
frequently,  the  great  seas  making  it  difficult  to 
attempt  to  put  her  about  in  the  eye  of  the  wind. 

My  journal  entries  follow,  covering  the  last 
two  weeks  of  heavy  weather,  shifting  winds,  and 
great  cross  seas ;  a  period  of  cold  and  wet  with- 
out parallel  on  the  voyage: 

July  18th,  1898.  Wind  hauled  to  S.E.  at 
end  of  day.  Yards  sharp  up  on  starboard 
tack.  Heavy  snow  at  nightfall.  Cold.  Saw 
some  small  cakes  of  pan  ice.  Wind  stronger. 

July  19th.  Snow,  hail,  and  ice,  all  over 
decks.  Wind  moderate,  from  S.E.  as  before, 
veering  a  point  at  noon.  Braced  in  yards.  Set 
topgallant  sails.  Overhauled  another  homeward 
bound  bark;  could  not  make  out  her  colors. 

July  20th.  No  snow  today,  but  very  cold. 
Are  heading  N.N.W.  Wheel  from  four  to  six 
during  washdown,  glad  to  get  out  of  it.  Passed 
between  Falkland  Islands  and  mainland  to- 
day, no  land  in  sight.  Wind  holding  steady. 

July  21st.  Colder  today.  Wind  freshen- 
ing. Furled  fore  and  main  upper  topsails  in 
the  midwatch.  Heading  N.N.W.,  starboard 
tack.  Looks  bad.  Rigged  life  lines  today. 

July  22nd.     Wore  ship  in  morning  watch, 


364  UNDER  SAIL 

set  fore  upper  topsail  and  mainsail.  Ship  un- 
der fore  and  main  upper  topsails  and  two 
courses,  fore  topmast  staysail  and  spanker. 

July  23rd.  Warmer,  but  still  cold  enough 
for  my  monkey  jacket.  Weather  puzzling. 
Old  Man  seems  worried.  Told  me  we  were  a 
long  way  from  home;  I  know  it. 

July  24th.  Sunday.  Wind  unsteady.  At 
braces  most  of  day.  Calm  in  afternoon.  Got 
orders  to  shorten  down  to  reefed  topsails. 
Caught  two  Cape  Pigeons  in  dog  watch.  Let 
one  go  and  took  wings  of  best  one.  Glass 
falling.  Got  up  rolling  tackles.  Steadied  out 
life  lines.  All  hands  forward  hope  the  skipper 
has  made  a  mistake.  Funny  sky  to  south. 

July  25th.  Wind  jumped  out  of  the  south 
last  night.  Heavy  sea  running.  Colder  than 
before.  Sleet  in  the  wind.  Under  lower  top- 
sails and  reefed  foresail.  Running  fast.  Ship- 
ping blue  water. 

July  26th.  Running  with  wind  one  point 
on  starboard  quarter.  Sea  came  aboard  in  mid- 
watch  and  carried  away  the  freeing  ports  on 
port  side,  from  mainmast  to  the  poop.  After 
cabin  flooded  again.  Colder,  hail  all  night. 

July  27th.  Wind  abating.  Got  sail  on  her 
to  topgallant  sails.  High  sea  running.  All 


STORMY  DAYS  365 

hands  standing  by.  Ship  yawing  badly.  Took 
in  mizzen  topgallant.  Blowing  up  again  at  end 
of  day,  started  to  shorten  down. 

July  28th.  All  hands  took  in  the  mainsail  at 
six  this  evening.  Called  all  hands  at  six  bells 
in  first  night  watch  and  took  in  foresail.  Liv- 
ing gale.  Under  lower  topsails  and  fore  top- 
mast staysail. 

July  29th.  We  hove  to  at  daybreak.  Got 
her  around  in  the  smooth  and  used  a  lot  of  oil 
to  windward.  Under  fore  and  main  lower 
topsails.  We  took  in  the  mizzen  lower  as  soon 
as  she  came  around  and  set  the  mizzen  storm 
sail.  Fore  lower  topsail  blown  out  of  bolt 
ropes  at  noon.  All  hands  on  deck,  aft  on  poop. 
Everything  streaming  to  leeward.  Captain 
rates  wind  at  11.  Hail  and  sleet  all  night. 
Very  cold. 

July  30th.  Still  blowing  hard.  Sent  down 
remains  of  fore  lower  topsail  and  bent  new  one. 
Set  this  at  four  bells  in  afternoon.  Wind  mod- 
erating. Warmer. 

July  31st.  Sunday.  Gale  dropped,  day  broke 
fine.  Set  all  sail  to  royals.  Warm.  Had  plum 
duff.  Drying  clothes.  Are  making  ten  knots 
and  going  faster  as  sea  goes  down.  Deck  wet, 
rigging  forward  full  of  clothes. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

HEADED  NORTH 

WELL,  for  one  I  am  damn  glad  we  are 
through  with  it,"  said  Brenden  during  a 
discussion  of  Cape  Horn  weather  that  went  on 
forward  as  we  cleared  out  the  damp  fo'c'sle  that 
wonderful  Sunday  following  the  gales.  "This 
makes  five  times  around  for  me  and  I  hope  to 
God  the  last." 

"How  far  to  Pilladelpia?"  chirped  up  Kahe- 
muku,  his  face  again  approaching  its  natural 
brown,  though  lean  and  worn  beyond  all  resem- 
blance of  his  Honolulu  poi-fed  chubbiness. 

"Ha!  The  Kanaka  is  coming  to  life!"  kidded 
Australia.  "Well,  me  brown  brother  and  fellow 
shipmate,  if  I  do  call  you  that,  even  though  you 
are  not  white,  Pillerdelpia  is  a  long  way  off  yet. 
The  walking  is  bad  and  if  I  was  you  I  would  stay 
aboard  a  while  longer.  In  fact  you  will  have  to 
ride  all  the  way  with  nothing  to  do  but  work,  me 
hearty,  work." 

All  hands  were  feeling  good.  Black  Joe  hung 
366 


HEADED  NORTH  367 

around  the  galley  all  Sunday  helping  Chow  and 
for  supper  that  night  he  was  rewarded  by  a  large 
sea  pie,  one  of  the  bright-red  confections  made  of 
the  mysterious  "pie  fruit."  A  chemist  might  an- 
alyze it  as  a  composition  of  apple  peelings,  glu- 
cose, acetic  acid  and  aniline  dye.  My,  but  how 
good  it  did  taste!  The  human  system  demands 
its  poison.  Folks  ashore  prefer  theirs  in  the 
most  expensive  form,  while  we  .poor  sailors  on 
the  ship  Fuller j  on  that  memorable  voyage  in  the 
year  of  the  great  war  with  Spain,  took  our  wee- 
vils, which  are  no  worse  than  Roquefort,  only 
larger,  and  relished  them.  We  ate  many  cock- 
roaches browned  in  the  cracker  hash  and  dandy 
funk,  and  drank  their  extract  in  the  tea  and  cof- 
fee, beverages,  so  called,  for  want  of  other 
names.  As  for  the  sea  pie,  it  acted  as  a  correc- 
tive to  the  gingerbread.  When  Shakespeare 
asked,  "What's  in  a  name?"  he  had  certainly 
never  experienced  such  a  voyage  as  ours. 

Following  our  dose  of  weather  we  entered 
upon  a  spell  of  work  that  carried  us  well  up  to 
the  latitude  of  Cape  Frio.  The  gear  had  to  be 
overhauled  in  all  of  its  details;  whips  of  braces 
shifted  end  for  end,  new  chafing  mats  and  bat- 
tens seized  on  to  the  stays  taking  the  place  of 


068  UNDER  SAIL 

those  worn  through,  and  the  slack  standing  rig- 
ging set  up. 

Our  own  gear,  the  clothing  of  the  crew,  was 
sadly  in  need  of  attention  and  every  dog  watch 
found  the  fo'c'sle  busy  with  thread  and  needle. 
Frenchy  was  our  top  notch  sailor  man  at  sewing. 
He  could  ply  a  needle  with  the  best  housewife 
that  ever  swapped  a  bit  of  scandal  at  a  sewing 
bee.  He  did  not  use  a  thimble,  but  handled  a 
long  coarse  needle,  pushing  it  through  with  the 
calloused  end  of  his  thumb,  a  simple  and  effective 
method  for  those  gifted  with  the  necessary  tough- 
ness of  cuticle.  I  had  always  wanted  a  pair  of 
real  seagoing  canvas  pants  such  as  Robinson  Cru- 
soe must  have  worn,  before  he  skinned  the  historic 
goat,  pants  wide  in  the  legs,  and  fashioned  of  well 
weathered  stuff,  soft  and  comfortable.  My  good 
shipmate  constructed  them  for  me.  They  were 
not  beautiful,  but  being  what  was  left  of  an  old 
skysail,  a  veteran  of  many  voyages,  a  romantic 
piece  of  canvas  that  had  swept  the  starry  paths 
on  many  a  balmy  night,  dew-bleached  and  mel- 
low, they  meant  much  to  me.  These  pants  were 
very  homelike,  and  I  never  was  able  to  wear  them 
out. 

In  patching  and  sewing  we  managed  to  do 
wonders  with  old  rags  that  at  first  seemed  beyond 


HEADED  NORTH  369 

all  hope  of  redemption.  Also,  owing  to  the  near 
approach  of  the  payday,  we  begrudged  the  slop 
chest  any  further  inroads  upon  the  accumulated 
wealth  that  was  to  belong  to  us;  the  sailor's  pot 
of  gold,  sitting  so  brightly,  way  beyond  to  the 
north,  where  our  dream  rainbow  ended  in  cynical 
old  New  York. 

About  this  time  Peter  came  in  for  a  lot  of 
joshing  by  the  men  of  his  watch.  He  had  an  old 
long-tailed  oilskin  coat  given  him  by  Chips.  Such 
a  garment  is  never  worn  by  sailor  men  who  have 
to  go  aloft,  it  being  the  sole  prerogative  of  offi- 
cers and  idlers  who  never  venture  above  the  sheer 
pole.  However,  with  Second  Mate  Tom  on  deck, 
many  strange  things  happened  in  the  starboard 
watch,  and  Peter,  the  stiff  tails  of  his  long  coat 
sticking  out  in  the  wind,  would  go  up  the  rigging 
as  unconcerned  as  if  it  was  the  recognized  and 
proper  thing  for  a  sailor  man  to  wear. 

It  happened  that  during  a  rain  squall  at  the 
latter  part  of  his  watch  on  deck,  he  was  sent  up 
to  furl  the  main  sky  sail,  and  we  tumbled  out  just 
in  time  to  see  him  going  up  the  weather  rigging 
with  his  long  yellow  tail  sticking  out  above  his 
legs  for  all  the  world  like  a  huge  pale  cockroach. 
At  the  same  time  First  Mate  Zerk  stood  aghast 
at  the  unusual  spectacle. 


370  UNDER  SAIL 

"Come  down  out  of  that!  Hey  you!  Lay 
down!"  Peter  heard  and  obeyed.  "Lay  aft!" 
"Yes,  sir!"  "Hey,  Chips!"  "Aye,  aye,  sir!" 
from  Chips.  "Bring  a  knife  aft.  Cut  the  tail  off 
of  this.  Now!"  Chips  had  trimmed  a  good  two 
feet  off  of  Peter.  "That  looks  fine.  Now  take 
off  another  foot,  we  want  to  have  this  fine  fellow 
in  style." 

When  Chips  got  through,  after  a  lot  of  sarcas- 
tic criticism  by  the  mate,  and  laughter  by  all 
hands  mustered  in  the  waist,  Peter  looked  like  a 
well  trimmed  bird.  His  jacket  was  so  short  that 
the  drip  from  its  end  went  into  the  top  of  his  trou- 
sers. He  made  a  move  to  pick  up  the  discarded 
tail,  no  doubt  thinking  it  would  do  to  sew  on  as 
an  extension.  "No,  you  don't!"  shouted  the 
mate.  "Throw  that  overboard,  Chips!  Now,  go 
forward,  watch  below.  No,  you  don't,"  to  Peter; 
"you  lay  aloft  and  furl  that  sail,  my  fine  fellow, 
and  show  us  what  a  starboard  watch  hand  can 
do." 

Poor  Peter  lay  up  in  a  dismal  manner  and  af- 
ter a  lot  of  shouting  from  the  deck,  he  came  down 
and  went  below  with  a  good  half  hour  of  his  watch 
gone,  all  on  account  of  the  offending  garment, 
showing  that  even  at  sea  the  correct  thing  in  dress 


HEADED  NORTH  371 

is  essential;  at  least  it  was  so  in  those  strict  old 
days. 

Officers  in  the  old  ships  were  very  precise  as  a 
rule  in  matters  of  this  kind.  A  number  of  years 
after  the  coat  incident,  I  was  serving  under  Cap- 
tain Geo.  D.  Morrison,  one  of  the  old-time  sail- 
ing-ship masters.  We  were  on  the  bridge  of  a 
fine  steamer.  Eight  bells  had  just  been  made 
and  a  quartermaster,  an  important  little  man, 
came  up  out  of  the  fo'c'sle  where  he  had  his  quar- 
ters, and  as  he  walked  aft  along  the  forward  well 
deck  he  drew  a  huge  silver  watch  out  of  his  pocket 
as  though  to  verify  the  correctness  of  the  bells  on 
the  bridge. 

"Great  Scott!"  exclaimed  the  skipper.  "What 
in  thunder  are  we  coming  to  with  sailors  carry- 
ing watches?  I  suppose  they  will  carry  walking 
sticks  next.  But,  sir,"  turning  to  me,  "not  on  my 
ship!  Send  that  man  down  to  the  chart  room!" 

When  Erricson,  the  quartermaster,  arrived  on 
the  bridge,  I  sent  him  down  to  the  skipper.  The 
old  man  closed  the  chart  room  door,  he  was  a 
very  religious  man,  and  after  a  short  session,  the 
quartermaster  came  out  looking  much  scared. 
When  we  got  to  San  Francisco,  he  was  paid  off, 
and  Captain  Morrison  handed  me  an  envelope 
to  give  to  the  man;  this  contained  a  heavy  turnip- 


370  UNDER  SAIL 

"Come  down  out  of  that!  Hey  you!  Lay 
down!"  Peter  heard  and  obeyed.  "Lay  aft!" 
"Yes,  sir!"  "Hey,  Chips!"  "Aye,  aye,  sir!" 
from  Chips.  "Bring  a  knife  aft.  Cut  the  tail  off 
of  this.  Now!"  Chips  had  trimmed  a  good  two 
feet  off  of  Peter.  "That  looks  fine.  Now  take 
off  another  foot,  we  want  to  have  this  fine  fellow 
in  style." 

When  Chips  got  through,  after  a  lot  of  sarcas- 
tic criticism  by  the  mate,  and  laughter  by  all 
hands  mustered  in  the  waist,  Peter  looked  like  a 
well  trimmed  bird.  His  jacket  was  so  short  that 
the  drip  from  its  end  went  into  the  top  of  his  trou- 
sers. He  made  a  move  to  pick  up  the  discarded 
tail,  no  doubt  thinking  it  would  do  to  sew  on  as 
an  extension.  "No,  you  don't!"  shouted  the 
mate.  "Throw  that  overboard,  Chips!  Now,  go 
forward,  watch  below.  No,  you  don't,"  to  Peter; 
"you  lay  aloft  and  furl  that  sail,  my  fine  fellow, 
and  show  us  what  a  starboard  watch  hand  can 
do." 

Poor  Peter  lay  up  in  a  dismal  manner  and  af- 
ter a  lot  of  shouting  from  the  deck,  he  came  down 
and  went  below  with  a  good  half  hour  of  his  watch 
gone,  all  on  account  of  the  offending  garment, 
showing  that  even  at  sea  the  correct  thing  in  dress 


HEADED  NORTH  371 

is  essential;  at  least  it  was  so  in  those  strict  old 
days. 

Officers  in  the  old  ships  were  very  precise  as  a 
rule  in  matters  of  this  kind.  A  number  of  years 
after  the  coat  incident,  I  was  serving  under  Cap- 
tain Geo.  D.  Morrison,  one  of  the  old-time  sail- 
ing-ship masters.  We  were  on  the  bridge  of  a 
fine  steamer.  Eight  bells  had  just  been  made 
and  a  quartermaster,  an  important  little  man, 
came  up  out  of  the  fo'c'sle  where  he  had  his  quar- 
ters, and  as  he  walked  aft  along  the  forward  well 
deck  he  drew  a  huge  silver  watch  out  of  his  pocket 
as  though  to  verify  the  correctness  of  the  bells  on 
the  bridge. 

"Great  Scott!"  exclaimed  the  skipper.  "What 
in  thunder  are  we  coming  to  with  sailors  carry- 
ing watches?  I  suppose  they  will  carry  walking 
sticks  next.  But,  sir,"  turning  to  me,  "not  on  my 
ship!  Send  that  man  down  to  the  chart  room!" 

When  Erricson,  the  quartermaster,  arrived  on 
the  bridge,  I  sent  him  down  to  the  skipper.  The 
old  man  closed  the  chart  room  door,  he  was  a 
very  religious  man,  and  after  a  short  session,  the 
quartermaster  came  out  looking  much  scared. 
When  we  got  to  San  Francisco,  he  was  paid  off, 
and  Captain  Morrison  handed  me  an  envelope 
to  give  to  the  man;  this  contained  a  heavy  turnip- 


374  UNDER  SAIL 

so  we  could  lay  our  hands  on  things  in  the 
darkest  night.  Great  snatch  blocks  for  carry- 
ing a  tack  or  sheet  to  the  main  or  fo'c'sle  head 
capstan,  or  for  taking  the  fore  or  main 
tops'l  halyards  to  the  same;  secret  blocks 
for  bunt  jiggers,  a  small  round  block 
about  the  size  of  a  soup  plate,  with  the  sheave 
completely  covered,  the  whip,  for  it  is  a  single 
block,  reeving  through  small  holes  in  the  edge  of 
the  shell  to  prevent  the  canvas  fouling  between 
the  rope  and  the  sheave  as  is  possible  in  an  or- 
dinary block.  Clump  blocks,  small  and  "clumpy" 
like  a  roly-poly  baker's  loaf.  These  are  very 
strong  blocks  and  are  used  at  the  ends  of  the  stay- 
sail and  jib  sheets  for  the  reeving  of  the  whips. 
These  sheets,  as  sailors  know,  are  always  in  two 
branches  and  the  clump  block  makes  it  easy  to 
haul  the  weather  sheet,  block  and  whip  over  the 
stay  without  catching,  as  the  lee  sheet  is  hauled 
aft.  There  are  others  called  sister  blocks,  double 
and  treble  blocks,  fiddle  blocks,  great  jeer  blocks 
for  sending  up  and  down  heavy  spars,  stepping 
masts,  etc.  Many  of  the  blocks  aboard  ship  take 
their  names  from  the  particular  use  to  which  they 
may  be  put,  such  as  quarter  blocks,  brace  blocks, 
hanging  blocks,  clewline  blocks. 

When  we  were  cleaned  up  forward,  and  ready 


HEADED  NORTH  375 

for  the  last  long  spell  of  fine  weather,  with  its 
round  of  marling-spike  work,  chipping,  painting, 
tarring  and  holystoning,  we  were  treated  to  a  few 
hours  of  excitement  that  was  different  from  the 
usual  thing  of  that  kind  aboard  the  Fuller,,  as  we 
had  a  chance  to  enjoy  the  show  like  spectators  at 
the  rail,  and  not,  as  on  most  occasions,  when  we 
saw  the  circus  in  the  same  way  that  the  perform- 
ers see  it,  namely,  dangling  from  the  flying  tra- 
peze near  the  top  of  the  tent. 

It  was  on  a  wet  Friday  morning;  we  were 
scrubbing  deck  paintwork  when  the  "wheel"  sang 
out,  "Steamer  ahoy!" 

This  was  unusual,  and  all  hands  were  aston- 
ished at  the  closeness  of  a  cloud  of  smoke  that 
was  tearing  toward  us  from  somewhere  to  wind- 
ward. Captain  Nichols  came  out  on  deck  and 
got  the  long  telescope  to  bear.  He  pronounced 
her  a  cruiser. 

She  was  coming  for  as  fast;  suddenly  she  al- 
tered her  course  fully  four  points  and  came  in 
under  our  stern.  She  was  a  dirty  white,  streaked 
with  rust,  a  fair-sized  armored  cruiser,  two  fun- 
nels with  a  military  mast  between  them. 

"Break  out  the  ensign,  Mr.  Zerk.  Might  as 
well  show  her  who  we  are."  Indeed,  the  cruiser 


376  UNDER  SAIL 

was  reading  our  name  and  hailing-port  on  the 
broad  transom  in  letters  of  shining  gold. 

"She's  a  Spaniard,  one  of  them  has  a  mast  be- 
tween two  funnels,"  someone  said.  I  remem- 
bered this,  having  in  mind  the  pictures  of  the 
Spanish  ships  in  West  Indian  waters,  published 
in  the  magazines  while  we  were  in  Honolulu. 

"All  out  for  Barcelona!"  shouted  the  mate. 
The  ensign  went  up,  and  we  dipped.  The  crui- 
ser ran  up  the  Argentine  colors,  answered  our 
salute  and  resumed  her  course. 

"Hey,  you  loafers,  get  back  on  that  paint 
work;  this  ain't  no  Spanish  prison!" 

Of  course  we  all  grinned  at  the  great  humor 
of  the  joke,  and  began  to  rub  with  our  brick 
dust  rags;  the  starboard  watch  went  below  at 
once,  for  it  was  unhealthy  to  be  seen  standing 
around  on  deck  during  a  watch  below.  We  all 
knew  that  the  afternoon  below  would  soon  be 
gone  and  hoped  to  stall  off  the  day  of  doom  as 
long  as  possible. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

FO'c'SLE  DISCUSSIONS 

FRENCHY,  Brenden,  Australia,  and  my- 
self were  told  off  as  a  special  gang,  in  the 
port  watch,  to  set  up  the  topmast  and  topgallant 
shrouds,  worked  slack  by  the  heavy  weather  we 
had  just  encountered.  We  were  in  the  tops  most 
of  the  watch,  as  the  wind  held  fairly  steady,  and 
passed  the  time  pleasantly,  yarning  as  we 
worked ;  talking  in  sotto  voce  of  course,  and  busy 
as  monkeys  in  a  jungle.  The  tops,  as  some  lands- 
men may  not  know,  are  not  exactly  at  the  top  of 
things,  but  they  are  the  platforms  about  a  fourth 
of  the  distance  up  the  masts  where  the  heel  of 
the  topmast  rests  on  the  trestle  trees  of  the  lower 
mast. 

The  top  consists  of  a  platform,  semicircular 
in  shape,  the  curved  side  forward.  The  topmast 
shrouds  are  led  to  the  edges  of  the  top,  giving 
them  a  certain  "spread."  The  historic  "lubber's 
hole"  is  to  be  found  in  this  piece  of  ship's  fur- 
nishing, and  one  can  hardly  pick  up  an  old-time 

377 


378  UNDER  SAIL 

volume  of  sea  adventure  without  some  reference 
to  it,  or  I  should  say  "them,"  for  there  are  two 
lubber's  holes  in  each  top  platform.  The  lower 
rigging  runs  up  through  the  lubber's  hole,  passes 
around  the  lower  mast  head  resting  on  the  "bol- 
sters/' which  in  turn  rest  on  the  trestle  trees, 
which  in  turn  rest  partly  on  the  Iwunds  and  on 
the  bibbs.  The  hounds  are  formed  on  the  mast 
where  it  is  squared  at  the  point  where  the  doub- 
ling begins.  Just  below  this  the  bibbs  are  bolted 
on  on  each  side, — now,  I  suppose  we  all  know 
how  it  is  done.  It  is  certainly  as  clear  as  crystal 
to  a  sailor,  who  knows  all  about  it  already  but 
merely  likes  to  read  over  the  familiar  names,  no 
doubt  recalling  many  hours  spent  in  the  tops 
of  old-time  ships.  The  pull  on  the  topmast 
shrouds  is  taken  by  the  futtock  shrouds,  iron  rods 
running  down  from  the  lower  dead  eyes  of  the 
topmast  rigging,  through  the  rim  of  the  top,  to  an 
iron  band  around  the  lower  mast  fitted  with  eye 
bolts,  some  six  feet  below  the  top  platform;  this 
is  the  futtock  band. 

In  an  interesting  book  called  "The  Sailor,"  the 
hero,  Henry  Harper,  "slides"  down  the  futtock 
shrouds  to  the  deck.  As  he  is  still  going  strong 
on  page  450  and  the  "slide"  occurs  on  page  48,  we 
conclude  that  Henry  was  a  pretty  tough  lad. 


FO'C'SLE  DISCUSSIONS         379 

The  futtock  shrouds  run  up  from  the  mast  and 
out  board  to  the  rim  of  the  top.  A  sailor  going 
aloft  must  go  out  on  the  futtock  ratlines  hanging 
like  a  fly.  This  is  easy  enough  and  the  quickest 
way  up.  The  lubber's  hole  provides  a  safer  way, 
but  as  its  name  implies,  it  is  considered  an  unwor- 
thy method  of  going  aloft.  At  least  such  was  the 
opinion  in  those  good  old  days. 

Where  these  futtock  shrouds  pass  down  be- 
tween the  lower  mast  shrouds  is  a  stout  oaken  or 
hickory  batten  seized  to  the  lower  rigging.  This 
is  the  futtock  staff. 

The  tops  have  been  getting  smaller  as  the  art 
of  rigging  has  progressed.  At  one  time  they 
were  very  large,  affording  room  for  a  numerous 
company,  the  topmen,  and  in  the  old  days  they 
served  as  fighting  platforms  for  the  small-arm 
men.  On  the  old  schoolship  St.  Mary's,  the  tops 
were  very  commodious ;  a  top  chest  was  provided 
abaft  the  mast  for  the  small  gear  and  spikes,  tar 
and  slush  pots,  etc.,  that  might  be  required  aloft. 
I  remember  a  tired  boy  going  aloft  in  the  fore 
top  on  his  way  to  the  fore  tops'l  lookout,  and  ly- 
ing down  behind  the  top  chest  for  a  nap.  A  half 
hour  afterward,  when  he  was  missed  on  the  yard, 
a  general  alarm  failed  to  find  him,  and  the  ship 
was  mustered  and  every  crook  and  corner 


380  UNDER  SAIL 

searched.  Finally  another  hand  was  sent  aloft, 
and  spied  the  culprit.  What  happened  to  him 
the  next  morning  when  he  was  brought  to  the 
mast  can  be  imagined. 

In  the  top  we  were  very  comfortable,  the 
shadow  of  the  lower  topsail,  and  the  pleasant 
back  draft  of  the  canvas,  making  it  ideal  for 
work.  We  set  up  the  topmast  rigging,  the  bur- 
tons being  led  to  the  deck,  where  the  men  at  work 
chipping  iron  deck  fittings,  or  scraping  the  bright 
work,  would  tail  onto  the  falls  when  we  sang 
out,  the  mate  telling  them  when  to  "come  up," 
as  we  clapped  on  our  rackings  and  seizings 
in  shipshape  style. 

Aloft  with  these  men  I  picked  up  a  lot  of  the 
fine  points  of  rigging.  Discussions  between 
Frenchy  and  Brenden  were  frequent,  and  not 
often  they  differed  beyond  all  hope  of  agreement 
on  matters  that  might  seem  trivial.  Brenden  had 
sailed  in  the  Rickmer's  ships,  the  great  German 
drivers  that  hold  so  many  of  the  present  day  sail- 
ing records  for  iron  ships.  His  seamanship  was 
of  a  more  modern  type.  He  was  the  best  wire 
splicer  in  the  crew,  and  gave  us  many  pointers. 
Frenchy,  though,  was  far  better  on  the  old-time 
seamanship  brought  to  such  a  high  state  of  per- 
fection in  the  sailing  craft  of  the  French  navy; 


FO'C'SLE  DISCUSSIONS          381 

vessels  used  for  the  purpose  of  training  their  na- 
val seamen. 

Often  when  being  relieved  by  Kitchen,  Old 
Smith,  and  Axel,  the  starboard  watchers,  who 
carried  on  the  work  while  we  were  below,  we 
would  stay  aloft  with  them  during  the  first  dog 
watch  until  our  supper  was  ready,  spending  the 
time  yarning.  The  second  mate  never  said  any- 
thing and  we  were  always  careful  not  to  let  the 
mate  catch  us.  Hitchen  had  sailed  in  the  large 
ship  rigged  yacht  Valhalla  when  she  came  out. 
She  was  the  finest  yacht  afloat  manned  by  a  com- 
plement of  ex-naval  men.  Hitchen,  however, 
claimed  he  had  never  been  in  the  navy.  We 
often  deferred  to  Hitchen,  who  was  a  student  of 
seamanship,  and  carried  a  dog-eared  copy  of 
"Tinmouth's  Inquiry  Into  Points  on  Seaman- 
ship," a  learned  book  going  into  the  intricacies  of 
throat  seizings,  or  the  advantages  and  disadvan- 
tages of  turning  in  cutter  stay  fashion  with  ref- 
erence to  the  attachment  of  dead  eyes. 

But  most  of  our  knowledge  was  not  to  be 
found  within  the  covers  of  books.  An  enthusiast 
even  then,  I  retain  some  of  it,  still  what  would  I 
not  give  to  have  at  hand  a  stenographic  record  of 
our  "gamming"  in  the  broad  tops  of  the  good 
ship  A.  J.  Fuller? 


382 


UNDER  SAIL 


FO'C'SLE  DISCUSSIONS         383 

Of  the  merits  and  demerits  of  various  ships 
and  rigs  we  had  plenty  of  tales  on  this  part  of  the 
passage  by  men  who  had  served  in  them  through 
long,  hard  voyages.  "The  average  British  sailing 
ship  is  a  disgrace  to  the  red  ensign,"  was  the  way 
Kitchen  put  it  when  speaking  of  the  ships  of  his 
native  island.  "She  feeds  poor,  very  little  is  spent 
to  maintain  her,  the  running  gear  is  one  mess  of 
splices  before  it  is  picked  into  oakum,  and  very 
little  work  is  done.  The  British  Monarch  was  a 
fair  sample  of  this  class  of  vessel,  I  wouldn't  say 
anything  if  we  did  not  know  how  to  do 
things  better.  Take  Lord  Brassey's  ships;  the 
old  sailers  of  the  White  Star  Line,  in  which  they 
trained  their  officers  for  the  liners;  these  vessels 
are  a  credit  to  the  flag.  But  too  many  of  our 
ships  are  run  on  the  cheap.  I  don't  say  that  they 
are  hard  on  the  crew,  in  fact  they  are  easy,  but 
it's  rotten  poor  grub  and  no  pride.  You  hate 
them  at  sea  and  are  ashamed  of  them  in  port." 

"The  bounty  ships  are  good;  they  carry  a  good 
crew,  and  do  a  lot  of  sailing.  Not  much  laying 
in  port.  You  see  they  must  cover  miles  to  get 
their  subsidy  from  the  government.  Sailors  is 
what  the  French  people  want.  The  pay  is  too 
little  for  me.  Anyhow,  I'm  going  to  quit,"  was 
Frenchy's  contribution. 


384  UNDER  SAIL 

"For  hard  work  and  hell,  give  me  the  Rick- 
mer's  ships  out  of  Bremen.  Next  to  the  Amer- 
ican ships,  they  are  the  worst;  regular  German 
army  discipline  on  the  water.  They  feed  and  pay 
better  than  most  Dutchmen,  but  they  don't  care 
how  many  men  they  kill  on  a  passage.'*  Bren- 
den's  opinion  was  authoritative. 

We  all,  however,  agreed,  that  the  Yankee  sail- 
ing ship  was  driven  as  hard  as  any  ship  afloat, 
and  that  the  grub,  in  port  at  least,  was  the  best 
fed  to  sailors  on  any  sea. 

"Say,  if  our  grub  is  good,  what  in  thunder  do 
you  call  bad  grub?"  I  asked  one  day,  after  one 
of  our  learned  discussions. 

"My  boy,  bad  grub,"  and  Kitchen,  to  whom  I 
had  put  the  question,  dwelt  lovingly  on  the  words, 
"bad  grub" !  "Bad  grub  is  Act  of  Parliament  ra- 
tions of  so  much,  or  I  should  say,  so  little,  meat, 
either  salt  pork  or  beef  taken  from  the  pickle 
in  the  harness  casks  and  weighed  on  a  rusty  scales 
by  the  second  greaser  each  day,  and  given  out  to 
the  crew.  So  much  flour,  so  much  pease,  and  so 
much  hard  tack.  All  rationed  out  with  the  whack 
of  water,  and  carried  to  a  filthy  galley  where  the 
unappetizing  slops  is  cooked  up  in  some  tropic 
region,  and  served  to  the  British  merchant  sailor 


FO'C'SLE  DISCUSSIONS         385 

with  a  regulation  dram  of  lime  juice,  just  cal- 
culated to  keep  the  scurvy  out  of  his  knuckle 
joints.  That  is  bad  grub.  Yes,  we  have  about 
the  same  scale  here,  but  you  don't  see  them  follow 
it  so  close.  The  American  shipowner  knows  bet- 
ter, he  wants  to  get  a  lot  of  work  out  of  his  crew, 
to  keep  his  ship  up  and  to  make  fast  passages ;  he 
knows  he  must  feed  the  gang  to  make  them  do 
it  without  chucking  overboard  a  lot  of  corpses. 
I  tell  you,  lad,  bad  grub  is  a  rotten  dish,  but  not 
a  rare  one.  When  your  meat  sours,  and  the  filthy 
flour  is  full  of  blue  mold,  say,  you  are  getting  it 
rich  then.  Did  you  ever  drink  sour  goat's  milk? 
No?  Well,  bad  grub  is  as  bad  as  that." 

"That  sounds  bad,  but  how  about  the  weevils?" 
I  asked,  thinking  he  had  forgotten  our  white 
worms. 

"Weevils!  Why,  weevils  are  a  sign  of  good 
grub.  Grub  fit  to  feed  weevils  is  tip-top  fodder. 
See  how  nice  and  fat  they  get.  A  mess  of  fresh 
weevils  is  simply  another  way  of  getting  your 
game  with  the  taste  of  white  plump  meat." 

"You  make  me  sick,  Hitchen,"  I  burst  out,  as 
I  dropped  over  the  edge  of  the  top  and  down  onto 
the  futtock  shrouds.  I  gained  the  deck  fairly 
nauseated — a  near  seasickness,  a  malady  that  oth- 


386  UNDER  SAIL 

erwise  never  troubled  me.  My  stomach  was  as 
empty  as  the  famous  cupboard,  and  with  the  keen 
sea  air  and  the  healthy  appetite  of  a  boy  of  eigh- 
teen, I  was  famished  as  I  went  forward  to  supper, 
but  Kitchen's  philosophy  of  food  values  so  up- 
set me  that  I  could  eat  nothing  but  a  piece  of  se- 
lected tack,  one  free  from  holes  that  I  was  for- 
tunate enough  to  find  in  the  bread  barge. 

After  that  I  steered  clear  of  food  discussions, 
and  tried  to  forget  the  whole  subject;  it  was 
hardly  worth  while  talking  about  anyhow.  We 
confined  ourselves  to  talk  about  timenocles,  cath- 
arpins,  and  of  the  best  way  to  tJwroughfoot  a 
rope.  Frenchy,  who  had  sailed  in  the  Mediter- 
ranean a  good  deal,  told  us  of  the  strange  craft 
called  a  ybeck,  her  mainsail  having  a  large  button 
in  the  belly  of  it,  to  hold  in  the  bulge  of  the  sail, 
somewhat  after  the  manner  of  our  midship  tack. 

We  talked  of  bonnets,  and  of  Jimmy  Greens, 
and  of  the  ancient  curse  of  stunsails.  These  men 
had  sailed  in  the  East,  and  knew  the  queer  rigs 
of  the  great  junks  and  seagoing  sampans  of  the 
Yellow  Sea  and  the  Inland  Sea  of  Japan,  places 
I  was  later  on  to  visit,  and  to  verify  the  stories 
told  me  on  the  Fuller.  There  were  tales  of  paper 
flareups,  and  on  the  part  of  Frenchy,  who  had 
chased  them  in  a  frigate,  of  Chinese  pirate  junks 


FO'C'SLE  DISCUSSIONS          387 

armed  with  stink-pots,  and  smooth-bore  carron- 
ades. 

Of  our  own  rigging,  and  of  what  went  before 
it,  we  were  of  course  amply  reminded  by  our 
work.  In  the  older  ships,  when  tophamper  was 
not  as  refined  as  on  the  Fuller,  the  royal  yards, 
and  higher,  if  crossed,  would  be  sent  down  on  the 
approach  of  heavy  weather.  In  some  ships,  men- 
o'-war  especially,  the  sending  down  of  royal 
yards  at  night  was  a  regular  custom.  In  some  of 
the  old  Dutch  East  Indiamen,  it  was  also  the 
custom  to  shorten  down  for  the  night,  and  make 
all  snug;  a  comfortable  way  of  doing  things  in 
keeping  with  large  well-fed  crews,  Edam  cheese, 
and  waistlines  of  ample  proportions. 

On  the  later  ships,  the  Yankee  sailers  of  the 
day  whereof  we  write,  nothing  was  ever  sent 
down.  Yards  might  blow  down,  but  they  never 
came  down  by  the  free  will  of  the  master.  The 
extensive  use  of  wire  in  rigging,  and  the  more  se- 
cure type  of  metal  fittings,  bands,  etc.,  made  the 
old  precautions  unnecessary.  Besides,  time  had 
to  be  considered  as  an  important  element  in  the 
profits  of  the  voyage.  As  freight  rates  became 
lower,  the  rate  of  driving  increased,  and  speed 
was  more  and  more  necessary  to  success. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THROUGH   THE   TRADES 

WHILE  still  in  the  S.E.  trades  we  started 
our  last  long  drill  of  all  hands  on  deck  in 
the  afternoon;  the  final  clean-up  for  port  was  to 
be  a  thorough  one.  Paintwork  was  scrubbed  and, 
when  clean  as  new  ivory,  it  was  given  a  coat  of 
fresh  white  paint,  stroked  on  with  the  greatest 
care.  This  done,  the  decks  were  again  holystoned 
fore  and  aft;  a  most  thorough  job.  We  then 
knocked  about  in  the  doldrums  for  a  week  or  ten 
days,  and  on  Sunday,  August  21st,  we  crossed 
the  line  for  the  last  time  on  that  voyage. 

Ordinarily  one  might  suppose  that  this  last  leg 
of  the  long  passage  home  would  be  the  most 
pleasant  of  all  and  that  as  port  loomed  ahead  we 
would  once  more  feel  the  genial  glow  of  good  fel- 
lowship that  blossomed  so  warm  upon  our  ap- 
proach to  Honolulu.  But  we  were  apparently 
nearing  a  bleak  coast;  a  hard  material  country 
where  the  sailor  man  was  on  a  strictly  commer- 
cial basis  of  so  little  per  month,  and  more  men 


THROUGH  THE  TRADES       389 

than  billets ;  the  crew  would  go,  of  course,  and  no 
one  cared  how  much  they  cursed  the  ship,  for 
they  would  do  that  anyway.  The  grub  was  worse 
because  it  was  older;  weevils  were  more  in  evi- 
dence than  before,  not  to  mention  other  pests 
such  as  rats  and  cockroaches,  and  we  were  feeling 
the  effect  of  too  close  associations,  a  period  of 
discontent,  soon  to  change,  but  at  that  time  most 
trying.  Also,  it  was  hot,  as  hot  as  it  ever  gets  on 
the  sea;  our  irritation  became  worse  with  every 
delay  of  head  wind  or  of  calm. 

Mr.  Zerk,  for  reasons  unknown  to  us,  became 
exceedingly  brash;  he  went  about  looking  for 
trouble,  and  always  found  it,  working  us  without 
mercy  in  the  heat  of  the  day,  and  horsing  us  about 
at  night.  His  relations  with  the  second  mate 
were  strained  more  than  ever,  and  some  of  the  men 
of  the  starboard  watch  came  forward  with  a  tale 
of  a  big  row  between  the  skipper  and  the  mate, 
the  sounds  having  come  up  from  the  after  com- 
panion ;  of  course,  anything  like  that  would  never 
take  place  upon  those  well-disciplined  decks. 

This  succession  of  troubles  had  its  climax  one 
morning  when  the  mate  set  upon  Chips,  that 
most  gloomy  and  industrious  of  all  carpenters. 
The  lanky  one,  in  returning  from  the  poop  with 
the  running  lights,  had  through  some  carelessness 


390  UNDER  SAIL 

allowed  several  drops  of  oil  to  smirch  the  spot- 
less planks. 

"You  dirty  low-down  bum !  What  do  you  mean 
by  spilling  that  grease  all  over  the  deck?" 

"Ay  spill  nothing!"  shouted  Chips,  his  slow 
soul  riled  to  the  point  of  protest  at  this  latest 
insult. 

"You  didn't,  hey?  Well,  I'll  spill  something!" 
The  mate  jumped  down  the  ladder  from  the  poop 
and  made  after  Chips,  who  was  in  the  waist. 
Chips  saw  him  coming,  and  as  he  had  a  heavy 
brass  side  light  in  each  hand,  he  was  helpless. 
Realizing  this,  he  started  to  run  and  reached  the 
door  of  the  lamp  locker  as  the  mate  came  up  to 
him.  Chips  turned,  dropping  the  lights,  and  as 
he  faced  the  furious  first  officer,  that  gentleman 
let  drive  a  terrific  crack  with  his  right,  fetching 
Chips  just  below  the  ear,  and  lifting  him  clean 
over  the  sill  into  the  lamp  locker.  The  mate 
went  in  after  Chips  and  for  a  few  minutes  the 
place  was  in  an  uproar.  The  mate  stepped  out, 
his  hands  covered  with  blood. 

We  were  taking  down  the  gear  from  the  pins, 
after  the  washdown,  and  a  number  of  us  stood 
horrified  in  the  waist,  a  feeling  of  deep  repulsion 
coming  over  us.  A  big  splotch  of  blood  on  the 


THROUGH  THE  TRADES       391 

shirt  front  of  the  mate  must  have  come  from 
Chips'  nose. 

The  mate  looked  at  us.  He  opened  his  mouth 
as  if  to  bawl  some  order,  or  hurl  some  epithet  at 
the  men  of  his  watch  who  had  witnessed  the  bru- 
tal assault.  Suddenly  he  turned  round,  and 
looked  into  the  door  of  the  lamp  locker,  a  small 
room  in  the  after  end  of  the  forward  house. 

"Get  a  bucket  of  water  and  clean  up  this  mess. 
It's  a  lucky  thing  you  didn't  bust  them  lights 
when  you  dropped  them."  He  was  addressing 
Chips,  who  came  out  of  the  door  a  moment  later, 
hobbling  to  his  room.  The  mate  went  aft,  wash- 
ing off  his  hands  in  a  bucket  of  water  that  stood 
on  the  main  hatch. 

No  one  said  anything,  even  in  a  whisper,  but 
when  we  went  below  at  eight  bells  and  were  as- 
sembled around  the  kids,  one  of  the  boys  spoke 
up. 

"Chips  is  cleaning  up  the  lamp  locker." 

"I  hope  he  reports  Mr.  Zerk  to  the  Shipping 
Commissioner,"  I  said.  "If  he  does  enter  a  com- 
plaint he  has  plenty  of  witnesses.  It  will  mean 
jail  for  that  bully,  and  he  deserves  it." 

"Sure,  he  deserves  to  be  hung,"  said  Bren- 
den.  "But  Chips  will  keep  his  mouth  shut." 

"Why?"  I  asked. 


392  UNDER  SAIL 

"If  he  makes  a  squeal,  this  will  be  his  last  ship. 
Chips  has  seen  worse  than  he  got,  and  should 
have  kept  his  mouth  shut.  He  gets  forty  dollars 
a  month,  ten  more  than  the  second  mate.  The 
Squarehead's  no  fool." 

"Well,  I  call  it  a  dirty  piece  of  work." 

"Right-o!"  agreed  Australia.  "That  rotten 
bull  ought  to  be  hung  by  his  thumbs." 

While  little  was  said  about  this  particularly 
raw  piece  of  brutality,  it  made  a  great  difference 
to  us  in  so  far  as  we  seemed  to  realize,  of  a  sud- 
den, that  the  fo'c'sle  was  apart  from  things  aft, 
and  that  it  was  just  as  well  that  we  felt  a  little 
more  agreeable  toward  each  other. 

The  constant  rubbing  noses  over  the  stinking 
grub,  and  the  continued  driving,  with  no  rest  in 
the  afternoons,  made  life  anything  but  pleasant 
while  we  lingered  in  the  tropics.  But  the  blood 
spilled  by  the  mate,  as  I  have  said,  clarified  our 
atmosphere  forward. 

Talk  of  the  days  to  come  again  waxed  plenty, 
and  plans  were  gone  over  and  over  in  the  night 
watches.  In  calm,  we  fretted  and  fumed,  watch- 
ing and  whistling  for  a  breeze  as  though  our  very 
lives  depended  upon  the  blowing  of  a  gale. 
Hitchen,  one  calm  Sunday  afternoon,  cut  a  cross 
in  the  mainmast  in  order  to  bring  on  a  wind;  as 


THROUGH  THE  TRADES       393 

this  piece  of  vandalism  was  done  in  the  second 
mate's  watch,  and  in  a  place  where  it  could  not  be 
seen  without  a  search,  no  evil  consequences  en- 
sued. 

As  on  Sunday  we  got  our  watch  below  in 
the  afternoon,  word  was  passed  to  us  of  the  port 
watch,  about  the  cross  on  the  main  mast,  and  in 
the  first  dog  watch  I  went  aft  and  inspected  it, 
pretending  to  hitch  up  a  coil  of  rope  that  hung 
inside  of  the  fife  rail.  We  lay  with  our  head 
yards  sharp  up  to  starboard,  and  the  after  yards 
back  against  the  starboard  rigging,  on  the  other 
tack,  the  courses  were  guyed  out  by  slap  lines, 
and  as  the  ship  yielded  to  the  gentle  roll  of  the 
swell,  the  reef  points  would  ripple  against  the 
canvas  in  a  way  that  sounds  different  from  any- 
thing else  in  the  world. 

We  were  speculating  upon  the  efficacy  of  the 
cross. 

"We  will  have  a  wind  before  midnight,"  de- 
clared Frenchy  with  positive  conviction,  and  dur- 
ing the  dog  watches  we  talked  of  nothing  else. 

Charlie  Horse  came  out  on  deck  in  the  second 
dog  watch  carrying  his  Bible,  with  a  quotation 
about  the  wind.  "Thou  hearest  the  sound,  but 
canst  not  tell  whence  it  cometh,"  he  read,  "for 
the  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth."  Charlie 


394  UNDER  SAIL 

Horse  placed  a  deep  significance  upon  the  cut- 
ting of  the  cross  in  the  mast.  The  faithful  be- 
came more  and  more  perturbed  as  the  sun  set  and 
no  sign  of  wind  rewarded  their  belief  in  the  cross. 

We  came  on  deck  for  the  first  night  watch,  and 
it  was  still  dead  calm,  the  sky  clear  and  the  stars 
shining  with  extraordinary  brilliancy.  A  slight 
dew  began  to  settle  as  the  watch  wore  on  and 
presently  a  sound  aloft  of  the  flapping  of  a  sky- 
sail  started  us  to  attention.  Wind!  But  where 
from? 

Aft  the  mate  and  Captain  Nichols  were  hold- 
ing up  wetted  fingers  trying  to  feel  the  direction 
of  the  airs,  that  were  undoubtedly  stirring  from 
somewhere. 

Frenchy  used  a  different  method,  one  I  prefer 
to  the  wetted  finger,  as  it  gives  a  more  accurate 
sense  of  direction.  He  held  his  hand,  palm  down, 
and  with  fingers  slightly  spread.  By  pointing 
the  fingers  around  the  horizon,  the  slightest 
breeze  will  make  itself  felt  against  the  sensitive 
skin  between  the  bases  of  the  fingers. 

"There!"  cried  Frenchy,  his  hand  pointing 
broad  abeam  to  starboard.  I  tried  it,  and  sure 
enough,  I  felt  the  slightest  coolness  between  my 
fingers.  Indeed  our  paws  were  none  too  sensi- 
tive, being  calloused  and  hardened  by  many 


THROUGH  THE  TRADES       395 

moons  of  hauling  at  gear,  and  from  much  anoint- 
ing in  slush  and  tar  pots.  Presently  things  were 
moving  aft. 

"Port  main;  starboard  crojik  braces!"  sung  out 
the  mate,  and  we  walked  the  yards  around  lively. 
The  canvas  began  to  belly  out,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes our  hot  faces  were  fanned  by  a  refreshing 
breeze.  This  was  the  first  touch  of  the  N.E. 
trades,  and  by  midnight  we  had  our  yards 
trimmed  with  the  wind  close  hauled  on  the  star- 
board tack  and  the  Fuller  heading  well  on  her 
course  toward  home. 

When  the  starboard  watch  came  on  deck, 
Hitchen  was  all  smiles,  and  the  wise  prognostica- 
tors  of  both  watches  were  well  pleased  with  them- 
selves. They  had  got  away  with  it  by  a  narrow 
margin. 

"I  predicts  that  it's  colder  tomorrow,"  chipped 
in  Australia. 

"We  got  bean  soup  tomorrow,  I  bets,"  Scouse 
ventured,  for  in  spite  of  the  vindication  of 
Frenchy,  Hitchen  and  the  others,  we  let  it  be 
known  that  luck  was  given  the  credit — luck  and 
the  cross.  Most  sailors  of  those  days  believed 
certain  things,  and  a  cross  in  the  mainmast  was 
as  sure  to  bring  wind,  as  a  ring  around  the  moon 
was  a  sign  of  rain. 


396  UNDER  SAIL 

During  our  last  spell  in  the  tropics,  with  our 
clear  nights  of  calm,  Australia  astonished  us  by 
his  remarkable  familiarity  with  the  names  and 
constellations  of  the  brightest  stars.  As  I  had  a 
fair  knowledge  of  these  from  my  studies  on  the 
schoolship,  and  also  had  my  Lecky,  with  the  won- 
derfully simple  star  charts  prepared  by  that  mas- 
ter mariner,  we  passed  some  profitable  and  in- 
teresting hours.  Even  today  I  never  miss  a 
chance  to  glance  at  the  clear  sky  at  night  and 
renew  acquaintance  with  the  great  stars  of  the 
heavens. 

Australia  had  picked  up  his  knowledge  from 
a  sheepherder  in  that  far  country  and  knew  the 
southern  constellations  better  than  I  did.  We 
all  know  the  Southern  Cross,  or  at  least  have 
heard  of  it,  and  by  the  way  it  is  not  much  of  a 
cross,  though  one  of  the  two  large  stars  pointing 
toward  it,  Alpha  Centauri,  is  said  to  be  the  near- 
est to  the  earth  of  all  the  fixed  stars.  This  is  also 
a  double  star,  but  a  powerful  telescope  is  needed 
to  distinguish  the  separate  bodies. 

Canopus,  another  whopper  of  the  southern 
heavens,  ranks  next  to  the  Dog  Star,  Sinus,  and 
we  never  tired  looking  at  these  magnificent  gems 
of  the  night  as  they  shone  with  living  fire  in  the 
clear  deep  blue  of  the  tropic  heavens.  As  I  gaze 


THROUGH  THE  TRADES       397 

from  time  to  time  at  the  constellations,  at  Cas- 
siopeia's Chair,  the  Great  and  Little  Bear,  the 
Swan,  and  the  giant  Vega,  at  Orion,  Leo,  or  the 
Sickle,  and  The  Cutters'  Mainsail,  I  think  of 
those  days  on  the  Fuller  when  we  conned  them  in 
mute  wonder,  as  sailors  have  in  countless  ages 
gone  before,  and  listened  to  the  names  by  one 
more  learned  than  the  rest.  Altair!  Regulust 
Aldebaran!  Arcturus!  Capetta!  Procyon!  Sirius! 
Spica!  Antares!  Fomolhaut!  Achernar  and 
Adara!  what  do  these  names  mean  to  the  modern 
human  calling  himself  educated?  Since  those  days 
I  have  spent  four  years  at  a  university,  and  have 
drilled  through  the  technical  course  in  astronomy, 
given  to  civil  engineers,  but  I  don't  recall  what 
was  taught  about  the  great  stars  of  the  heavens 
that  we  learned  to  know  by  their  first  names  on 
that  far  off  voyage.  Of  the  present  rank  and  file, 
who  discuss  anything  and  everything  smart  folk 
busy  themselves  about,  how  many  can  identify 
this  company  of  noble  names  of  the  great  blazing 
suns  that  swing  across  the  heavens? 

And  black  nothingness  is  also  to  be  found  in 
the  heavens,  in  the  Coal  Sack,  a  blank  space  of 
the  night  sky,  near  the  Southern  Cross,  in  the 
black  depth  of  which  no  telescope  has  yet  re- 
vealed a  star. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

APPROACHING  HOME 

ONCE  well  in  the  trades  we  sailed  along  with 
great  regularity,  running  up  our  latitude 
with  the  precision  of  a  steamer.  While  still  with- 
in the  belt  of  thunder  showers  I  had  an  experi- 
ence that  cured  me  of  a  habit  of  long  standing. 
I  would,  whenever  possible,  if  on  lookout,  strip 
on  the  approach  of  a  shower  while  in  mild 
weather,  and  enjoy  a  fresh  water  bath.  I  usu- 
ally pulled  off  my  shirt  and  trousers,  and  balling 
them  in  a  knot  would  tuck  them  around  the 
clapper  of  the  great  bell  on  the  foremast,  this  kept 
them  dry,  and  left  me  to  enjoy  the  refreshing 
rain.  Of  course  lookouts  were  only  stood  at 
night.  This  last  time,  a  beautiful  black  cloud 
came  down  with  the  wind,  we  were  close  hauled 
under  all  plain  sail,  and  it  did  not  look  like  a  job 
that  would  need  me  down  from  my  station.  Ac- 
cordingly, I  stripped  and  going  to  the  bowsprit, 
caught  hold  of  the  fore  stay  and  started  some 
gymnastics  in  anticipation  of  a  real  douse  from 


APPROACHING  HOME          399 

aloft.  It  was  not  long  in  coming,  and  with  the 
coldness  of  it,  and  the  look  of  the  white  caps 
lashed  up  under  the  cloud  as  it  bore  down  on  the 
ship,  I  felt  that  I  had  made  a  mistake.  It  was 
hail  and  not  rain  that  came  and  while  I  was  drag- 
ging my  clothes  out  from  under  the  bell  and  get- 
ting into  them,  I  underwent  a  pummelling  that 
left  me  sore  from  head  to  foot. 

Of  course  we  always  went  barefoot,  except  in 
real  cold  weather,  and  on  the  clean  decks  of  a 
ship,  this  has  much  to  recommend  it.  On  the  St. 
Mary's  the  order  to  go  barefoot  was  always  given 
when  at  sea  during  warm  weather,  and  on  the 
Fuller  I  found  that  all  hands  forward  did  this  as 
a  rule.  How  beautifully  simple  it  makes  things 
cannot  be  imagined,  except  by  those  who  are 
lucky  enough  to  be  able  to  look  back  at  barefoot 
boyhood  days. 

While  working  up  in  the  trades,  we  again 
shifted  to  better  canvas,  and  also  got  our  cables 
up  and  shackled  to  the  anchors,  these  being  sent 
off  the  fo'c'sle  head  and  hung  under  the  catheads, 
the  flukes,  of  course,  gripped  into  the  bill  boards. 

We  had  a  lot  of  rain  at  this  stage  of  the  voy- 
age, and  as  the  wind  was  strong  the  rigging 
would  dry  out  rapidly  after  each  wetting.  Ma- 
nila rope  shrinks  very  much  when  wet,  and  this 


400  UNDER  SAIL 

sort  of  weather  always  kept  us  on  the  go  "check- 
ing" ropes  to  prevent  damage  to  gear  aloft,  and 
then  as  the  stuff  dried  out  we  would  have  to  take 
in  the  slack  all  round.  The  remarkable  strength 
of  this  shrinking  process  is  shown  in  the  grip  of 
lashings  put  on  dry,  and  then  wet  just  before  tak- 
ing up  their  work.  Rafts  put  together  on  deck 
and  hove  overboard  are  a  good  example  of  this 
sort  of  thing. 

September  10th,  found  us  one  hundred  days 
out  from  Honolulu.  This  was  on  a  Saturday, 
and  that  afternoon  we  were  permitted  to  have  a 
last  field  day.  Also  we  sighted  a  steamer,  a  wel- 
come indication  of  approaching  shore  lines. 

"Here,  Felix,  take  this."  Australia  handed 
me  a  sheath  knife  that  I  had  always  admired. 
"Remember  me  by  it,"  he  said.  We  were  digging 
among  our  personal  belongings,  and  as  Austra- 
lia passed  around  a  number  of  things  among  the 
watch,  the  crowd  all  looked  over  their  gear  and 
there  was  a  general  exchange  of  remembrances. 
Scouse  gave  me  a  tintype  he  had  taken  in  Hono- 
lulu, and  Frenchy  gave  me  a  handsome  pair  of 
beckets  with  turks  heads,  that  he  had  worked  for 
my  sea  chest.  Pipes,  and  even  tobacco,  changed 
hands. 

The  weather  was  much  cooler,  though  far  from 


APPROACHING  HOME          401 

uncomfortable,  and  as  we  neared  port,  talk  about 
the  future  again  came  to  the  fore,  there  having 
been  a  lapse  of  several  weeks,  almost  a  month, 
following  the  great  revival  of  interest  when  we 
had  put  the  Horn  safely  behind  us.  Work  kept 
up  incessantly,  and  as  a  final  splurge,  we 
scrubbed  the  ship  over  the  side  down  to  her  cop- 
per composition,  and  painted  her  fore  and  aft, 
finishing  off  with  a  white  stripe  in  the  line  of  her 
sheer.  As  the  scroll  work  forward,  under  the  bow- 
sprit, that  did  duty  in  place  of  a  figurehead, 
and  the  scroll  work  aft,  had  been  gilded  only  the 
voyage  before,  the  Fuller  presented  a  very  neat 
appearance. 

The  brass  work  lining  the  pin  rails,  and  aft  on 
the  poop,  was  polished  to  perfection,  and  every 
last  turn  and  corner  was  done  to  the  final  satis- 
faction of  the  mate.  Aloft  we  were  as  trim  as  a 
ship  ever  got.  No  loose  ends,  all  mats  and  cha- 
fing gear  neatly  stopped  in  position,  masts 
scraped  clean  and  rubbed  with  just  enough 
grease  to  keep  the  parrals  from  sticking,  yards 
scrubbed  and  painted,  and  the  tops  and  doublings 
bright  as  a  new  pin.  We  were  to  go  into  port 
with  the  old  girl  reflecting  a  well  spent  voyage, 
for  the  critical  eye  of  Captain  Burnham  would 
appraise  her,  and  rate  his  captain  and  mate  ac- 


402  UNDER  SAIL 

cordingly,  for  he  was  a  most  knowing  old  ship 
manager. 

A  week  of  rains  and  blows  with  fair  wind  was 
followed  by  a  day  of  calm,  a  heavy  fog  settling 
down.  We  had  been  sighting  vessels  constantly, 
schooners  and  steamers,  and  knew  we  were  close 
to  our  port.  The  old  mechanical  fog  horn,  an 
ancient  device  worked  by  hand,  was  set  croaking 
on  the  fo'c'sle  head,  a  job  as  bad  as  the  bilge 
pumps,  and  we  lay  flapping  our  idle  wings  in  the 
mist.  Several  casts  were  taken  with  the  deep  sea 
lead;  we  were  in  soundings. 

The  following  day,  Sunday,  it  cleared  a  bit, 
with  a  warm  sun  on  the  waters,  but  the  wind  was 
still  up  and  down  and  a  rim  of  mist  shut  us  in, 
for  our  horizon  was  very  dim. 

"Keep  that  horn  barking!"  shouted  the  mate 
after  the  washdown.  I  was  on  the  fo'c'sle  head 
breaking  my  back  over  the  ancient  contraption, 
when  an  echo  seemed  to  come  in  over  the  bow. 
The  fog  had  shut  down  again. 

"Steamer  off  port  bow!"  I  shouted,  for  I  rec- 
ognized the  deep  tones  of  a  whistle. 

"Aye,  aye !    Give  her  the  horn !" 

I  pumped  down  hard,  and  a  moment  later  a 
tug  shoved  her  nose  through  the  mist,  a  stumpy 


APPROACHING  HOME          403 

craft  with  the  typical  high  pilot  house  of  the 
American  tug  boat;  we  were  home  at  last! 

" Where  bound,  Captain?"  came  the  hail. 

"Delaware  Breakwater!" 

"Want  a  tow?" 

"How  far  are  we?" 

"About  three  miles!" 

"All  right,  give  us  your  line !" 

As  the  tug  ranged  ahead  and  took  our  heaving 
line,  we  read  her  name;  she  was  the  Atkins 
Hughes,  of  Philadelphia. 

Droughing  slowly  through  the  heavy  fog,  we 
furled  sail  and  toward  noon  were  at  anchor  be- 
hind the  Delaware  Breakwater.  A  launch  came 
out  and  we  found  the  war  with  Spain  was  over, 
the  date  of  our  land-fall  being  September  18th, 
1898. 

We  heard  of  the  great  battle  off  Santiago,  and 
that  the  Hawaiian  Islands  had  been  annexed. 
Peter  and  I  got  the  surviving  Kanakas,  Kahe- 
muku  and  Joe,  up  on  the  fo'c'sle  head  and  made 
them  give  three  cheers  for  their  new  country. 
After  several  starts  they  did  this  very  well,  much 
to  our  amusement. 

"Where  is  Pilladelpia  ?"  Kahemuku  wanted  to 
know. 

"Right  up  there,  Kahee,"  said  Peter,  pointing 


404  UNDER  SAIL 

up  the  Delaware.  "Now  that  you  are  an  Ameri- 
can citizen  you  will  have  a  fine  time  when  you 
get  there." 

That  Sunday  afternoon  we  sat  about  yarning; 
anchor  watches  were  chosen,  and  a  full  night  in 
was  before  us.  We  were  tired  and  sea  worn  and 
a  trifle  sad.  Back  of  us  the  hard  days  of  the 
voyage,  ahead  of  us,  what?  We  were  soon  to 
part  and  no  one  mentioned  this  important  fact. 
We  were  glad,  of  course,  happy  to  so  soon  col- 
lect that  long  looked  forward  to  payday,  and 
to  carry  out  the  great  plans  so  long  in  the  mak- 
ing. I  felt  a  hollow  homesickness  that  had  to 
be  suppressed  with  a  firm  hold  and,  as  we  rested, 
smoking  and  yarning,  I  have  no  doubt  many  won- 
dered if  they  were  really  to  act  upon  the  good  res- 
olutions so  bravely  determined. 

Axel  and  Frenchy  joined  me  on  the  fo'c'sle 
head  and  we  talked  of  many  things.  I  was  going 
home,  but  they  wanted  me  to  surely  write  them. 
Both  were  to  ship  as  soon  as  possible  for  their 
native  shores.  Old  Smith  was  as  quiet  as  it  is 
possible  for  a  sailor  of  the  old  school  to  be.  He 
sat  on  the  fore  hatch  smoking.  "What  are  you 
going  to  do?"  I  asked  Smith. 

"Well,  if  what  I  have  done  before  is  any  cri- 
terion," he  said  grandly,  "I  guess  I  am  going  to 


APPROACHING  HOME  405 

sea  again  as  soon  as  my  pay  is  spent  and  I  get 
a  ship.  China  for  me  next,  I  am  through  with 
the  Horn." 

The  light  on  Cape  May,  the  twinkle  of  lights 


WATCHING  SHORE   AT  DELAWARE   BREAKWATER 

ashore,  and  the  clear  autumn  night  following  the 
day  of  fog,  came  as  a  welcome  relief.  We  needed 
sleep ;  we  were  tired  and  we  were  on  the  eve  of 
parting.  I  remember  during  my  anchor  watch, 
from  two  to  four  in  the  mid  watch,  I  stumped  the 
deck  in  a  highly  reminiscent  mood.  Several  times 


406  UNDER  SAIL 

I  went  to  the  fo'c'sle  doors  and  looked  in;  bad 
as  the  drill  had  been,  I  hated  to  leave  it. 

On  Monday,  Captain  Nichols  went  ashore  and 
sent  out  fresh  provisions,  but  there  was  no  mail 
for  us  forward.  Orders  were  to  come  soon  and 
we  spent  the  time  polishing  and  cleaning  as  if  our 
salvation  depended  upon  the  brilliance  of  the 
ship.  The  day  passed  without  word,  and  we  kept 
at  our  brass  and  paint  work  until  Wednesday, 
when  orders  were  received  for  New  York.  The 
Hughes  was  notified,  and  on  Thursday  noon,  a 
break  in  her  engine  having  delayed  her,  the  tug 
took  us  in  tow  for  Sandy  Hook.  We  found  the 
wind  favorable  off  the  Five  Fathom  Bank  light- 
ship and  set  all  plain  sail  to  top-gallant-sails.  At 
midnight  it  started  to  rain,  and  the  wind  freshen- 
ing, we  were  startled  by  a  commotion  under  our 
bows  and  found  we  were  bearing  down  on  the 
Atkim  Hughes,  her  smoke  pipe  sheering  off  to 
one  side  of  our  flying  jibboom,  and  her  steam 
whistle  protesting  in  strident  blasts. 

We  at  once  shortened  down  to  lower  tops'ls 
and  topmast  stays'ls,  and  as  we  gathered  in  her 
wings  the  old  ship  lay  back  on  the  hawser;  for 
the  last  time  that  voyage  she  had  felt  the  inde- 
pendent urge  of  her  canvas. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE  END  OF  THE  VOYAGE 

A  GRAY  dawn  broke  to  seaward,  and  as  the 
flash  of  the  Navesink  Light  dimmed,  and 
the  bulk  of  the  land  defined  itself  in  the  lifting 
haze  to  the  west,  we  picked  up  our  pilot.  In  past 
the  low  spit  of  the  Hook,  up  through  the  main 
ship  channel  and  past  the  Narrows,  we  labored 
aloft,  furling  sail,  giving  it  a  harbor  stow,  while 
Mr.  Zerk  watched  us  with  critical  eyes. 

The  day  was  fine,  warm  sunshine  welcoming 
us,  and  a  strange  unnatural  brightness  seeming 
to  radiate  from  every  nook  and  corner  of  the 
Fuller — she  was  groomed,  polished,  and  triple 
polished  for  this  very  day.  We  brought  up  near 
Bedloe's  Island,  under  the  lee  of  the  great  sta- 
tue, anchoring  shortly  after  noon.  The  glitter 
of  the  tall  buildings  on  Manhattan,  and  the  busy 
harbor  scenes,  constantly  called  to  our  sea  weary 
eyes.  All  hands  went  forward  to  a  dinner  of 
cracker  hash,  and  a  pale  looking  duff  to  which 
Chow  had  added  an  extra  ration  of  molasses, 

407 


408  UNDER  SAIL 

black  like  tar,  and  a  huge  can  of  coffee;  all  of 
tke  tack  in  the  bread  barge  was  broken  and  mealy 
as  if  it  had  been  searched  for  weevils  before  com- 
ing forward. 

"To  hell  with  this  grub,"  growled  Old  Smith, 
as  he  filled  his  pannikin  with  coffee  and  lit  his 
pipe.  "I'm  eating  white  man's  tucker  tonight. 
To  hell  with  this,  I  can  wait." 

However,  most  of  us  were  too  hungry  to  wait ; 
but  the  near  approach  of  human  victuals  made 
our  mouths  water.  All  about  the  fo'c'sle  bags 
and  chests  were  hauled  out  from  under  bunks  and 
benches  and  were  being  stowed. 

"That  looks  like  them  1"  Australia  at  the  star- 
board fore  channels  was  scanning  several  small 
boats  coming  out  toward  the  ship.  "I  bet  old 
pedlar  O'Brien  is  coming  out  to  make  me  a  pres- 
ent of  a  watch,"  he  said,  at  which  we  all  laughed. 

"Where  are  they?"  a  half  dozen  got  up  to 
watch  the  boats  coming  out  from  the  Battery 
with  interest. 

"Are  you  going  to  stay  by?"  asked  Frenchy. 
"If  you've  got  any  place  to  go  to,  don't  leave, 
but  stay  by." 

"Guess  I'll  stick,"  I  said,  "as  I  am  going  to 
my  uncle's  house.  Why  don't  you  stay  by?" 

"They  make  it  tough  for  you  if  you  do,"  said 


THE  END  OF  THE  VOYAGE    409 

Frenchy,  nodding  at  the  boats  which  were  now 
coming  alongside  with  a  spurt,  the  runners,  for 
it  was  they,  racing  to  see  who  would  get  over  the 
side  first. 

At  that  time  there  was  a  gentlemen's  agree- 
ment— if  we  may  call  it  such — between  the  board- 
ing house  keepers,  in  the  business  of  fleecing  sail- 
ors in  the  port  of  New  York,  whereby  all  victims 
were  parcelled  out  according  to  an  impartial 
schedule,  so  many  sailors  to  each  house.  When  a 
rich  deep  waterman  came  in,  the  boarding  houses 
in  the  combine  would  each  get  two  or  three  men, 
stripping  them  of  the  greater  part  of  their  pay- 
day. When  a  crew  was  wanted  for  a  vessel  out- 
ward bound,  they  would  supply  the  men  in  the 
same  manner,  taking  the  advance  notes  in  pay- 
ment for  board,  clothes,  and  what  not.  Some- 
times a  sailor  beat  a  boarding  master  but  not 
often,  for  Jack  generally  came  in  fat  and  went 
out  under  bare  poles,  with  nothing  but  a  kit  of 
second  hand  slops,  as  the  sole  increment  from  his 
previous  voyage. 

As  the  runners  bumped  alongside,  with  a  great 
show  of  rivalry  and  cheery  greetings,  for  they  all 
knew  just  who  was  on  board,  we  were  treated  to 
an  exhibition  of  rapid  fire  generosity  and  open- 
handed  welcome,  by  gentlemen  of  the  waterfront, 


410  UNDER  SAIL 

men  wearing  derby  hats  and  stiff  shiny  collars, 
watch  chains,  and  flashy  pins  stuck  into  bright 
neckties.  These  worthies  scrambled  up  the  fore 
channels  like  monkeys  and  onto  the  deck.  The 
game  was  to  get  a  sailor  to  accept  a  card.  As 
soon  as  one  of  the  boarding  house  cards  was  in  the 
horny  fist,  that  man  was  marked  and  belonged  to 
that  particular  house.  This  rushing  at  first  con- 
sisted in  a  scramble  for  the  most  desirable  vic- 
tims, that  is  the  weakest  and  most  easily  fleeced. 
An  evil-looking,  pimply-faced  runner  backed 
me  against  the  forward  house  and  thrust  a  card 
into  my  hand.  He  insisted,  and  I  protested.  He 
had  a  breath  that  was  strong,  and  told  me  how 
well  his  house  could  take  care  of  me.  Good  grub, 
a  good  crowd  there,  and  he  even  mentioned  other 
advantages.  He  tried  to  put  a  five  dollar  bill  into 
my  hands.  He  was  most  insistent ;  finally  he  saw 
that  he  was  wasting  precious  time,  and  darted 
after  an  easier  victim.  The  runners  swarmed 
about  the  decks,  two  and  three  men  from  each 
house.  In  the  two  sides  of  the  foVsle  the  crimps 
were  assisting  the  men  in  the  final  roping  of 
their  dunnage,  bottles  of  whisky  were  being  sam- 
pled. Some  of  the  men  proudly  handled  showy 
watches,  Australia  surely  got  his  watch,  a  big 
gilt  turnip  which  he  showed  me  with  pride. 


THE  END  OF  THE  VOYAGE    411 

"See,  I  got  it." 

"How  much?"  I  asked. 

"Only  ten  dollars — take  it  off  my  pay  day. 
This  watch  is  worth  half  of  that,"  and  Australia 
winked  at  me.  He  had  a  bottle  of  whisky  in  his 
jacket  pocket. 

All  hands  were  becoming  hilarious.  The  run- 
ners seemed  uneasy,  for  the  Fuller  was  known  as 
a  bit  of  a  rough  ship,  and  it  was  strictly  against 
the  law  for  them  to  be  on  board.  But  a  pay-off 
of  close  to  three  thousand  dollars  forward  was  too 
tempting  to  allow  around  loose  in  the  harbor. 

"No  more  of  this  work  wagon  for  me,"  shout- 
ed Australia.  Snatches  of  song  were  inter- 
rupted by  an  order  of  unmistakable  force. 

"Lay  aft,  all  hands!"  It  was  Mr.  Zerk  who 
came  forward  and  bellowed  at  the  gang  about  the 
fore  fife  rail. 

We  mustered  aft,  the  shore  harpies  watching 
us  from  the  sides  of  the  forward  house. 

"All  here?" 

"All  aft,  sir,"  Old  Smith  answered. 

Captain  Nichols  stepped  out  on  the  break  of 
the  poop. 

"Men,"  he  began,  "the  voyage  is  over,  but  we 
will  lay  in  the  bay  and  strike  t'gallant  masts  be- 
fore we  go  under  the  bridge.  You  can  do  this  if 


412  UNDER  SAIL 

you  want  to,  or  you  can  go  ashore  now.  I  have 
found  you  a  good  crew,  ready,  and  sober.  Those 
who  want  to  go  ashore  step  over  to  port."  All 
hands  did,  including  Second  Mate  Tom,  who  now 
stood  with  his  old  messmates,  after  a  brief  four 
months  as  an  officer  aft. 

"Peter,  come  back,  and  you,  Felix.  You  two 
stay  aboard  till  we  dock.  The  rest  of  you  can 
go.  I  want  to  say  'good-bye'  and  wish  you  good 
luck.  Be  careful  where  you  go  and  what  you 
do." 

As  the  skipper  finished  the  longest  speech  we 
had  ever  heard  him  make,  he  turned  sharply  and 
walked  aft  to  the  companion.  We  felt  like  giv- 
ing a  cheer,  but  the  cold  eye  of  the  mate  was  on 
us.  There  was  a  shuffle  and  hesitation  as  to  what 
was  next. 

"Lay  forward  and  get  your  dunnage,  mind 
that  paint  work  when  you  go  over  the  side."  Mr. 
Zerk  had  given  his  last  order  to  our  crowd. 

With  discipline  a  thing  of  the  past,  with  the 
hasty  donning  of  wrinkled  shore  clothes,  and  the 
ever  present  tempters,  plying  them  with  whisky, 
the  crew  became  a  strange,  wild-eyed  crowd. 
Old  Smith,  Kitchen,  and  Axel  seemed  to  know 
what  they  were  about.  Scouse  was  belligerent, 
half  tipsy,  and  wild  with  the  knowledge  that  he 


THE  END  OF  THE  VOYAGE    413 

was  at  last  to  step  from  those  hated  decks. 
Frenchy,  of  all  the  gang,  showed  the  most  sense. 
"I  am  saving  all  I  can  out  of  this,"  he  said.  "I 
will  ship  across  to  England  or  France,  as  soon 
as  possible." 

"Come  on,  stay  aboard,"  I  urged. 

"If  I  do,  I'll  never  get  a  ship  out  of  New 
York,"  and  he  knew  what  he  was  talking  about. 

Brenden  was  frankly  drunk,  soused  was  his 
condition,  and  as  fine  a  sailor-man  as  there  was. 
I  had  a  lump  in  my  throat  when  the  boats  pulled 
away.  There  was  much  hand  shaking  and  wav- 
ing. Peter  and  I  stood  on  the  fo'c'sle  head  watch- 
ing them  row  ashore.  Scouse  got  up  in  his  boat 
time  and  again  and  shook  his  fist  at  the  ship. 

Among  the  departed  ones,  Kahemuku  and 
Black  Joe  were  in  tow  of  a  colored  mission  that 
had  sent  a  boat  for  them.  These  poor  Kanakas 
had  very  little  coming  to  them,  and  they  offered 
no  temptation  to  the  greedy  runners.  On  the 
other  hand,  Tommy,  for  a  brief  term  second 
mate,  at  thirty  dollars  per  month,  presented  the 
juiciest  picking,  and  strangely  enough  fell  to  the 
lot  of  the  most  inexperienced  of  the  crimps  who 
picked  him  up  by  accident  after  the  struggle  was 
supposed  to  be  over  as  he  emerged  from  his  ex- 
alted cabin  under  the  poop.  Tom  also  departed 


414  UNDER  SAIL 

• 

from  the  immaculate  decks  with  a  feeling  of  gen- 
uine relief. 

"Well,  they're  gone,"  said  Peter. 

"I  wish  they  were  back,"  I  said. 

"Me  too,"  was  his  reply. 

When  the  last  boat  had  vanished  beyond  the 
South  Ferry  slip,  we  entered  the  deserted  fo'c'sle. 
The  disorder  incident  to  such  hurried  departure 
was  everywhere  evident.  Small  personal  belong- 
ings of  no  intrinsic  value,  but  speaking  elo- 
quently of  their  owners  on  the  long  voyage  past, 
were  scattered  about.  Brenden's  calendar  over 
his  bunk  attracted  my  eye,  and  I  saw  that  he  had 
carried  it  along  to  the  last  day  and  had  evidently 
made  a  calculation  of  his  payday  on  the  beam 
over  his  bunk.  Names  were  scratched  over  most 
of  the  bunks.  Frenchy,  always  neat,  had  left  be- 
hind a  small  canvas  pouch  in  which  he  kept  his 
tobacco  and  pipe,  this  was  empty,  however ;  a  few 
old  burnt  pipes,  easily  identified,  were  abandoned 
in  favor  of  the  more  effluvious  five  cent  cigars  so 
liberally  passed  around  by  the  runners.  In  the 
starboard  fo'c'sle,  Charlie  Horse  and  Tony  had 
cleaned  up  their  bunks  before  leaving,  but  Old 
Smith  left  his  a  sight.  Odd  playing  cards  were 
scattered  about,  and  the  smell  of  whisky,  from  re- 
cent spillings,  gave  this  austere  den  the  air  of  a 


THE  END  OF  THE  VOYAGE    415 

blind  pig.  Old  oilskins  that  had  been  cast  off, 
by  the  advice  of  some  of  the  crimps,  were  all  miss- 
ing. Peter  remembered  seeing  one  of  the  shore 
gang  bundle  these  up  and  take  them,  no  doubt  to 
help  outfit  the  poor  fellows  again  in  exchange 
for  their  advance;  not  an  item  seemed  to  have 
escaped  the  plundering  crowd  from  the  beach. 
The  fo'c'sle  on  my  side  was  populated  with 
ghosts;  I  was  glad  when  the  mate  called  us  aft 
and  ordered  the  decks  swept  down. 

"Cabin  grub  for  supper  tonight,"  announced 
Peter,  coming  from  the  galley.  Sure  enough,  we 
were  given  two  plates  of  corned  beef  hash,  made 
with  real  potatoes,  while  some  letters  that  had 
come  aboard  were  sent  forward.  I  was  happy  to 
learn  that  my  folks  were  well  and  knew  of  our 
arrival,  having  received  the  report  from  Dela- 
ware Breakwater.  We  were  particularly  happy 
in  all  this,  but  in  spite  of  good  news,  of  good  food, 
and  our  approaching  liberty,  we  were  sad.  The 
Fuller  was  peopled  with  the  spirits  of  those  so 
recently  departed.  Somewhere  on  shore  among 
the  twinkling  lights  that  began  to  flicker  as  the 
dusk  crept  over  the  bay,  our  shipmates  were  ca- 
rousing in  the  wicked  city,  laying  the  foundation 
for  another  voyage  of  endless  hardship  and  pri- 
vation. 


416  UNDER  SAIL 

Peter  and  I,  with  Chips,  who  remained  on 
board,  were  told  off  as  anchor  watch  during  the 
night,  each  taking  a  three-hour  shift ;  three  hours 
that  to  me  passed  very  quickly  as  I  tramped  the 
decks  of  memory  on  that  haunted  ship,  and 
thought  of  that  first  night  watch  when  Frenchy 
and  I  paired  off  to  stump  from  the  pin  rail  to 
the  forward  house,  and  spin  our  yarns,  and  lay 
the  foundation  for  a  friendship  that  I  have  never 
forgotten. 

In  the  morning  the  shore  riggers  came  on 
board,  taking  complete  charge.  Mr.  Zerk  walked 
the  deck  but  never  gave  an  order,  and  those  rough 
and  ready  men  struck  the  topgallant  masts  in  jig 
time,  lowering  the  skysail  masts  so  the  tall  trucks 
of  the  Fuller  would  clear  the  span  of  the  Brook- 
lyn Bridge.  How  they  went  rough-shod  over  the 
decks  with  their  spiked  boots,  while  we  had  to 
submit  all  of  our  shoes  to  the  mate  for  inspection 
before  wearing  them  so  he  could  satisfy  himself 
that  no  nails  remained  in  the  soles. 

By  two  that  afternoon,  the  topgallant  masts 
were  lowered  and  a  tug  came  alongside,  making 
fast  to  our  quarter;  we  slowly  headed  up  the  East 
River,  past  the  South  Ferry,  and  our  starting 
berth  at  the  foot  of  Maiden  Lane,  then  under  the 
Brooklyn  Bridge.  The  rattle  of  the  trains,  the 


THE  END  OF  THE  VOYAGE    417 

near  approach  of  the  life  and  hum  of  the  great 
city  filled  me  with  a  strange  wonder.  As  we 
came  alongside  at  Williamsburgh,  Mr.  Zerk  said 
we  might  pack  up  and  go  when  we  pleased.  Cap- 
tain Nichols  called  Peter  and  me  aft  and  handed 
us  each  a  letter ;  mine  was  to  serve  me  two  years 
later — when  I  was  twenty-one — as  part  of  the  re- 
quired service  testimonials  for  admission  to  the 
examination  for  second  mate  in  sail  and  steam 
vessels.  The  letter  read: 

NEW  YORK,  Sept.  24th,  1898. 
This  is  to  certify  that  Felix  Riesenberg  has 
made  the  voyage  in  the  Ship  A.  J.  Fuller 
from  New  York  to  Honolulu  and  back  to  New 
York,  and  I  have  found  him  to  be  a  smart, 
steady,  and  faithful  young  man. 

C.  M.  NICHOLS, 
Master,  Ship  A.  J.  Fuller. 

I  am  as  proud  of  this  letter  now  as  I  was  on 
the  day  it  was  given  me,  and  with  this  precious 
paper  in  pocket,  our  chests  trundling  along  be- 
hind on  an  express  wagon,  Peter  and  I  walked 
up  the  wharf,  two  sea-tanned,  hard-fisted  young- 
sters in  a  land  of  strange  activity,  noise,  cobble- 
stones, and  freedom.  We  parted  at  the  Brooklyn 


418  UNDER  SAIL 

Bridge,  he  going  to  friends  in  Brooklyn,  and  I 
to  the  home  of  my  uncle  in  Manhattan.  Behind 
us  lay  one  of  life's  great  experiences — a  voyage 
around  Cape  Horn  in  an  American  three  skysail 
yarder,  a  last  proud  example  of  the  fine  sailing 
ships  that  once  carried  the  starry  ensign  to  the 
four  quarters  of  the  globe. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE   LONG-LOOKED-FOR   PAYDAY 

ON  Monday,  Sept.  26th,  1898,  three  days 
after  our  arrival  in  the  bay,  we  were  paid 
off  before  the  United  States  Shipping  Commis- 
sioner, the  short  interval  having  worked  a  de- 
plorable change  in  the  crew.  Whoever  was  re- 
sponsible for  a  condition  so  well  calculated  to 
cause  the  downfall  of  the  returning  deepwater- 
man,  has  a  great  weight  of  iniquity  resting 
against  his  eternal  soul;  no  doubt  this  respon- 
sibility was  so  well  divided  that  each  and  every 
one  of  those  guilty  felt  that  his  individual  part 
in  the  great  scheme  of  debauchery  would  go  un- 
noticed. 

I  like  to  believe  that  all  of  them,  boarding  mas- 
ters, crimps,  runners,  politicians,  shipping  offi- 
cials, owners,  managers,  and  masters  who  were 
parties  to  the  fate  that  befell  the  men  of  the 
Fuller,  have  long  since  received  their  due  reward 
in  full  consciousness  of  its  meaning.  Nowadays 
things  are  managed  better,  thanks  to  the  greater 

419 


420  UNDER  SAIL 

influence  of  such  noble  establishments  as  the 
American  Seamen's  Friend  Society,  the  Sea- 
men's Christian  Association  in  West  Street,  and 
the  Seamen's  Church  Institute,  on  South  Street, 
clubs  where  sailors  are  given  room  and  board,  are 
outfitted,  and  are  able  to  bank  their  payday. 
Healthful  amusements  and  recreation  are  pro- 
vided, without  that  sanctimonious  atmosphere 
that  seems  to  curdle  many  well-meaning  at- 
tempts of  this  sort  and  most  of  the  shipping  com- 
panies secure  their  crews  through  the  Institute. 

But  in  1898,  the  deep  water  sailor  was  at  the 
mercy  of  the  hungry  sharks  who  had  full  sway 
in  the  vile  business  of  ruining  the  souls  and  health 
of  sailors  in  order  to  rob  them  of  the  few  dollars 
earned  during  a  year  or  more  of  cruel  labor  on 
the  sea. 

I  have  forgotten  just  where  the  shipping  office 
was  located,  but  it  was  somewhere  near  Beaver 
Street  and  the  waterfront.  I  was  on  hand  bright 
and  early,  anxious  to  see  the  crowd.  The  three 
days  of  rest  and  good  food,  and  wholesome 
amusement,  those  happy  days  at  the  home  of  my 
uncle,  had  put  me  in  fine  condition;  I  never  felt 
better  in  my  life,  and  I  was  looking  forward  to 
a  visit  with  the  old  gang.  I  wanted  to  take  a 
trip  around  the  waterfront  with  Frenchy  and 


LONG-LOOKED-FOR  PAYDAY  421 

Australia,  as  we  had  often  planned,  and  have  a 
good  dinner  ashore,  such  as  Frenchy  and  Tommy 
and  I  enjoyed  in  Honolulu. 

The  shipping  office,  as  I  remember  it,  had  a 
dingy  outer  room  in  which  the  crew  to  be  paid 
off  awaited  the  pleasure  of  the  haughty  officials. 
One  must  be  a  sailor  about  to  receive  the  scant 
reward  for  a  year  of  toil,  to  fully  appreciate  the 
high  and  mighty  character  of  such  minor  public 
officers  as  waited  upon  us  on  that  bluest  of  all 
blue  Mondays. 

A  gruff  understrapper  told  me  where  to  wait, 
and  in  the  course  of  a  half  hour  the  crew,  in  tow 
of  the  crimps,  appeared  on  the  scene;  I  would 
like  to  draw  a  veil  over  this  part  of  the  story  and 
leave  the  reader  the  simple  picture  of  the  men 
rowing  toward  the  Battery,  with  Scouse  shaking 
his  fist  at  the  ship,  but  realism,  which  in  itself 
constitutes  the  highest  romance,  bids  me  tell 
things  as  I  saw  them,  and  the  final  tragedy  is  a 
part  of  the  old  days  under  sail  that  none  of  us 
wish  to  see  return. 

I  looked  for  Frenchy,  but  hardly  knew  him. 
His  beard  was  trimmed  close  to  his  chin,  he  wore 
his  old  cap  but  had  on  a  cheap  new  suit  of  clothes, 
wrinkled  as  though  he  had  slept  in  them,  and  his 
eyes  were  bloodshot.  He  seemed  to  avoid  me,  as 


422  UNDER  SAIL 

he  hung  in  the  rear  of  the  crowd.  For  every  man 
to  be  paid  off,  at  least  two  crimps  were  on  hand. 

All  were  more  or  less  under  the  weather,  the 
smell  of  cheap  whisky  permeated  the  room,  and 
the  ribald  jests  of  the  crimps,  the  constant  whoop- 
ing up  of  an  ill-sustained  merriment,  gave  the 
gathering  a  ghastly  character  that  drove  home  to 
me  with  peculiar  force.  No  doubt  the  close  ap- 
proach to  the  money  caused  the  robbers  more 
than  a  passing  thrill.  A  couple  of  special  bounc- 
ers from  the  inner  office  appeared  when  the  gath- 
ering became  too  obstreperous,  and  I  had  a 
chance  to  say  "hello"  to  the  gang.  Peter  was 
there,  sober,  and  wide-eyed  with  astonishment, 
having  come  from  the  house  of  Mrs.  Burdick,  the 
good  angel  of  the  waterfront.  Australia,  in  a 
new  rig,  derby,  watch,  and  soiled  linen,  kept 
bursting  into  song;  not  the  songs  of  the  sea,  but 
some  cheap  new  airs  picked  up  along  the  Bow- 
ery. 

"I  owe  them  half  of  what's  coming  to  me,"  he 
whispered,  as  if  this  was  something  to  be  proud 
of;  a  crimp  slid  up,  and  he  at  once  ceased  his 
confidences ;  all  hands  acted  as  though  they  were 
in  charge  of  jailers,  which  in  fact  they  were. 

Brenden,  Charlie  Horse,  and  Tommy  sat  in 
a  corner,  sullen,  and  I  judge  partly  sober. 


LONG-LOOKED-FOR  PAYDAY  423 

Their  attendants  were  anything  but  friendly. 
Martin,  Fred,  Tony,  and  Old  Smith  had  given 
themselves  over  body  and  soul.  Smith  was  al- 
ready promised  a  ship,  to  sail  in  a  week,  so  he 
had  seven  more  days  of  hilarious  living  to  look 
forward  to,  and  then  another  drill,  around  the 
Horn  or  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope;  another  such 
voyage  as  we  had  just  passed  through. 

Axel  and  Kitchen  were  in  their  old  clothes; 
they  had  seen  the  sights,  but  seemed  far  steadier 
than  the  rest. 

I  cornered  Frenchy.  "What  are  you  going  to 
do  when  you  get  your  pay?"  I  asked. 

"I  will  pay  up  what  I  owe  and  ship  for  Eng- 
land or  France." 

"Better  buy  a  steerage  passage  for  Havre,'7 
I  reminded  him,  when  the  crimp  who  owned  him 
closed  in,  and  a  bull  voice  from  the  back  room 
ordered  us  to  line  up  for  our  pay. 

My  name  was  one  of  the  last  to  be  called,  and 
as  I  got  my  pay,  something  over  one  hundred 
and  twenty-five  dollars,  with  slops  and  allowance 
given  in  Honolulu  deducted,  I  returned  to  the 
outer  room  and  found  most  of  the  men  gone.  As 
fast  as  they  had  got  their  money,  the  crimps 
had  hurried  them  off  to  their  respective  board- 
ing houses.  The  Kanakas  came  in,  still  in  charge 


424  UNDER  SAIL 

of  the  colored  mission,  or  whatever  it  was,  that 
had  them  in  tow,  apparently  the  only  honest  peo- 
ple there,  and  I  bid  those  simple  fellows  good- 
by;  whether  Kahemuku  ever  got  to  "Pilladel- 
pia,"  I  don't  know;  I  hope  he  did. 

Presently  I  was  on  the  street.  The  crew  of 
the  Fuller  had  vanished.  I  looked  for  Peter;  he 
was  gone.  I  stood  alone  and  strangers  passed, 
bumping  into  me,  no  doubt  thinking  me  a  sun- 
burned country  yokel,  stranded  in  those  busy, 
narrow  streets. 

That  afternoon  I  saw  Captain  Shackford,  of 
the  American  Line,  and  was  promised  a  billet 
as  cadet  on  the  St.  Louis,,  just  returned  to  the 
passenger  service  after  her  brief  career  as  an 
auxiliary  cruiser  during  the  war  with  Spain.  My 
service  in  sail  was  completed,  and  I  was  to  ex- 
perience eighteen  months,  as  quartermaster,  for 
I  was  soon  promoted,  on  the  St.  Louis,  during 
her  golden  age,  when  for  a  brief  period  it  looked 
as  though  the  Stars  and  Stripes  were  again  to 
come  into  their  own  upon  the  Western  Ocean. 

THE  END 


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